


Of Palaces and Ruins

by livelongandgetiton



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Archaeologist Bilbo, Architect Thorin, Bilbo is nanny to fili and kili, Chaos Ensues, Cultural Difference, Light drug use, M/M, Modern AU, Nanny AU, Political Intrigue, Slow Burn, Teacher Bilbo, Thilbo, Thilbo AU, bagginshield, clueless pining thorin, flirty bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 88,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21517762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelongandgetiton/pseuds/livelongandgetiton
Summary: Slow burn. Bilbo Baggins is a half-baked archaeologist who has put his dreams of adventure on hold to teach secondary school. Thorin is the grandson of a politically powerful figure in the historically rich and deeply isolationist country of Erebor. When he flees conflict and corruption in Erebor to settle in London, he finds his hands full with two young boys. Gandalf meddles, and Bilbo signs on as a personal tutor for the boys in hopes of getting a foot in the door to archaeological work in Erebor. He soon discovers that Thorin is a tough nut to crack. As Bilbo takes care of the boys he and Thorin grow closer, and secrets about not just the brooding stranger, but the mysterious country and politics of Erebor begin to unravel. It turns out that Bilbo isn't leaving adventure behind, after all.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 84
Kudos: 132





	1. Prologue

Bilbo Baggins was a creature of habit - particularly when it came to life’s simple comforts. A good book, a blazing fireplace, and a cozy armchair that swallowed him up when he sat in it, hugging him on all sides with the warm embrace that hand-me-down furniture often had. These, he told himself, were all he really needed to be happy. And when the chill of the fall crept into the empty halls of the once bustling little cottage, and the muffled roar of the autumn winds rattled the old panes - reminding Bilbo just how silent the house had become - he fixed himself a cup of warm chamomile tea, nibbled on a biscuit, and convinced himself that these were enough. That _this_ was enough.

After all, he knew himself - it had been enough for him before. He had sought out adventure and excitement at every turn in his life, but his anxiety always crippled him, sent him running home to this house sooner or later each time. Although that, of course, had been because Belladonna had always been there to greet him, comfort him, and stuff him with delicious breads and pies and biscuits until he could feel all of the worry melting away. His mother had always had that effect on him - one of grounding, utter joy, and comfort. The feeling of home. He had not felt that calm for years, since her passing. He simply had not been the same.

Bilbo had been two and a half years into his Archaeology PhD program at University College London when she had passed. He had just received his Masters degree; Belladonna had been too sick to attend the small departmental ceremony (and besides, he had fully intended to finish the program and earn his PhD, a feat he considered more worth the celebration), but she had been too weak for travel for quite some time. Her passing was unexpected, and tore a massive hole inside of Bilbo.

He had barely slept or eaten for days after he heard the news. He hardly left his apartment, missed class, and didn’t show up for his position as a lab assistant. He knew that he needed to contact his professors, his employer, and he needed to go back home...and deal with things. He would have to pack her house away, compartmentalize the material remains of her life, and fully accept that she was gone and that he would never see her waiting for him by that dark green door again. He couldn’t bear the thought, so he chose to put off the inevitable.

Finally, after a week, he caved to the dozens of calls he was receiving from his aunts and cousins and packed up a bag for the weekend, buying a bus ticket last minute and hauling his bags out in the miserable misty drizzle to begin his journey out to the countryside for the funeral. He hardly remembered that first week back in his mother’s little cottage, in a village so small that it rarely appeared on maps. He sat stone-faced at her funeral as her coffin was lowered into the damp earth, a simple pine box strewn with powder-blue forget-me-nots.

Weeks passed, and the emails from his professors and committee accumulated, unread, as well as the calls from his lab. He lost his job, and was eventually informed politely but firmly by his committee that it would be wise for him to take a leave of absence. Finally, breaking a hand through the ice that had seemingly formed around him, he realized the damage he had inflicted on his own progress. He needed to take a break.

That leave of absence resulted in Bilbo eventually unenrolling from the program. Months later, when the wan English sun began to peak out from behind the clouds, he declined an invitation to serve as a field tech for the summer season at a dig site he’d been working at for years. Just a bit more time, he told himself, for months. Eventually, running dangerously low on funds, he officially moved out of his cramped London studio and back into his mother’s house. He had already been living there for nearly half a year, only returning once to his little apartment to collect his clothes, toiletries and various other scarce belongings, frowning guiltily at the dessicated plants on the windowsills. Only his pothos had survived, emerald green leaves withered and pale but clinging to life in the dim light of his bathroom window. He scooped it up with a whispered apology and closed the door for the last time on his cozy little studio.

His mother’s house always used to feel cozy to him, but in the months that followed her death it was a cold and lonely cave collecting dust, haunted by the memories of Belladonna and Bilbo’s childhood. Open boxes sat half-empty and scattered around the house, the furniture collected dust, and the round kitschy mirrors Bilbo’s mother had loved so much were shrouded in rough, pilled blankets from the back of the closet. Finally, after subsisting largely on Chinese takeout - and then ramen when even that became too expensive - Bilbo ran out of money. His familiar anxiety began to override the fog of depression that he had been crushed beneath for the past half a year. He needed money, and asking his aunts or cousins for help was simply out of the question.

Bilbo’s first inclination was to search for cultural resource management jobs. He’d screwed up by losing the lab assistant job, but he was a solid field and lab technician, and hoped that his past performance both in the macrobot lab and on his digs would make up for his marked absence from both academic and field work for so long. Plus, at this point he would take what he could get - he enjoyed fieldwork and he was good at it, though he had never gone on a dig in the UK. Ever since he had been a child, Bilbo had been fascinated by the history and mythology of the Americas. He had been lucky enough to score a spot on a dig at a monumental site on the desert coast of Peru back when he was completing his bachelor's degree in Anthropology. Though he had been interested in pre-Columbian cultures before then, he had truly fallen in love with the country while on his dig, and dove deep into the ancient history of the region.

Unfortunately, the companies conducting fieldwork where he lived were few and far between, and none were interested in an archaeologist that hardly knew his Roman Republic from his Roman Empire artifacts. Companies that might have taken him were closer to London and offered no housing and puny per diem rates, hardly a livable situation. In the end he resigned himself to applying for teaching positions. It wasn’t that he hated teaching, in fact, he had once enjoyed it...but he didn’t want to drift away from conducting material science research. He never felt more alive than when traveling through South America, taking in the monumental and awe-inspiring remains scattered across the nation’s jungles, snowy peaks, and scorching desert valleys. He didn’t want to lose the opportunity to continue his adventures...but after having his mother so unceremoniously torn from him, he felt rooted to the spot. And then there was the reminder that she too had been a teacher, a painful memory that constantly floated to the forefront of his mind every time he researched teaching positions. It hurt, and always reminded him of her, but he soon realized that he could no longer suppress the memory of her death, lest he risk losing the memory of her. Living in her home felt like both a curse and a necessity for survival. He needed to keep what little of her was left.

And so he sought out teaching positions. Months passed and he got his teaching certification. And finally, the calls started coming in for interviews. With his first paycheck as a Year 11 anthropology teacher, he bought a much needed load of groceries, cursing as he opened the refrigerator door and realized he would need to clean out both his own weeks to months old Chinese food remains as well as the scattered items (no doubt on their way to evolving into new multi-cellular organisms) his mother had left before she passed away. The act of cleaning the sad little fridge was oddly therapeutic, and awoke something in Bilbo. That weekend he finished packing up the boxes, handling his mother’s clothes and personal belongings gingerly before sealing the boxes and labeling them meticulously, piling them under the pull-down stairs for the attic. He dusted her wooden furniture, an eclectic mix of pieces of varying color, styles, and shapes that she had picked up from second-hand stores over the decades. He wiped the grime from the picture frames above the fireplace, swallowing the anxiety and guilt that churned his stomach and weighed heavy on his soul. He took out her silly lace doilies, such an antiquity, and laid them across the mantle. He lifted the blankets from the mirrors, opened the windows, and lit the fat white candlesticks sitting on the shelves, half-burnt globs of dried wax coating shiny brass candle-holders.

It wasn’t even a fraction of what it was when she was there - bringing the very walls of the house alive with her sharp and wild spirit - but it was something. It was a sliver of hope.

And so, Bilbo found himself in a significantly cozier iteration of his mother’s little cottage during the beginnings of a crisp fall, nearly 3 years to the date since he had suffered his breakdown and returned home. He now taught at a middle school as a geology teacher, drawing on his knowledge and experience as a lab technician analyzing soil cores, and kept himself busy in the summers as a camp coordinator for a local science camp. It was...exhausting. There were aspects of it that he loved, but ultimately he couldn’t deny that he felt unfulfilled. He missed his adventures, he missed working under the desert sun, feeling the sand and soil beneath his fingers give way to the smooth finish of a ceramic pot, or the sandpapery texture of a bone. There was nothing quite like the excitement of adventure and discovery.

And although he did like teaching, his jobs as a middle school teacher and camp educator always left him in charge of dozens of kids at once, hardly a suitable environment for really connecting with the children on a personal level, and igniting in them the deep love of science and archaeology that he held. Although, he reflected, his mother had never had trouble with it. She had been a schoolteacher when Bilbo was growing up, and a brilliant one at that. Her former students, later in their teens and even twenties, would often reach out to her and stop by the house because she had made such a lasting impact in their lives. It was really remarkable to Bilbo how large of an influence she had been for these kids. Belladonna Took had often been regarded by the sleepy little town (and many of his Baggins cousins, aunts and uncles) as a little too wild, a little too bright-eyed and opinionated. His aunt Lobelia never failed to bring up her “wild past” when she had “run off” to serve in the Peace Corps in the Philippines, helping to build a school and then serving as an educator. The Baggins had collectively released a sigh of relief when she had returned, finally married her sweetheart, and decided to become a teacher and a mother. And lucky that she did, because she had inspired so many kids to grow up and pursue their dreams, including Bilbo.

He didn’t realize until he had moved to London for university and met new people with radically different upbringings than his own that his mother had made such an important impact in his life. Of course, he didn’t know either that the last time he kissed his mother goodbye, a warm but hasty action as he hurried out the old green door to catch his bus - he needed to get on the road to be back in time to make an evening lecture - that it would be the last time he would ever see her face, hear her voice, feel the warmth of her wrinkled skin. He supposed that one could never really tell when even the smallest or most mundane moment or occurrence in one’s life would mark a turning point to a new phase in one’s story that they could never predict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is partially written already, so I will probably upload chapter 1 tomorrow. It's lookin to be a 50k at least but it may end up being more because I h8 myself ig! Enjoy!!


	2. Chapter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo receives an unexpected guest.

Bilbo found himself thinking of his mother once again, mind floating far away in a cloud of nostalgia as he pulled a fresh batch of lemon tea biscuits out of the oven. The heavenly smell of lemon zest, butter and cream delighted his senses as the hot blast of air brought him back to reality. 

That, and the three sharp raps at the door, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin as the sound echoed down the kitchen hallway.

“ _Shit!”_ Bilbo hissed as he searched for a hotplate to place under the pan full of cookies. “Who on earth could that be?”

If it was Lobelia, maybe he could just pretend to be gone - or dead. Whatever would work to send her away. He couldn’t imagine who else would be paying him, the village hermit, a visit. He finally located a hotplate and put it down on his mother’s worn stone counter, wary of scorching the surface with the pan. Bilbo heaved a deep sigh; just as his heart rate began to slow - believing that the unwanted visitor had went on their way - and another sharp knock reverberated through the small space. Bilbo nearly knocked the hot tray off the counter, so alarmed was his state. His clumsy jerk did not send the cookies flying, but did result in the soft skin on the back of his hand making contact with the hot metal.

He let out a short, exasperated shriek of frustration and cradled his reddened skin. He snatched a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and stalked to the front door, thoroughly disturbed and ready to give whoever refused to leave him in peace a piece of his flustered mind. He swung open the heavy wooden door with all the force he could muster, voice already raising as he muttered “Would you stop that incessant knocking…”

And froze on the spot as his eyes processed the tall stranger outside his door. 

Except it wasn’t a stranger, he thought suddenly, though for the life of him he couldn’t say who the man was. There was something familiar in the eyes, he thought. Otherwise the man had a strange appearance - a somewhat scruffy looking grey beard devoured the lower half of his face - it might at one point have been dignified, but at present looked wiry and frizzy, stark white and silver strands strewn haphazardly throughout. His hair was about the same: a grey and white mane fell in loose waves to his upper arms. It looked a bit more tamed than the beard, though the same brilliant silver strands ran through it. He was dressed in a long, grey trench coat and black beret to shield him from the misty English weather, and plaid trousers with a nice pair of leather shoes. Bilbo’s eyes trailed up to his face - at first frozen in surprise at the abrupt opening of the door, but now splitting in an impossibly large grin that Bilbo couldn’t help but be a tad alarmed by.

“Bilbo Baggins!” the stranger (but not stranger?) bellowed as he beamed at Bilbo, his deep and booming voice startling Bilbo once again (and good lord, he was jumpy today).

Bilbo stood with his hand on the door, mouth agape as the man smiled at him, familiar and friendly eyes crinkling in amusement. Who was this man at his door? Why did he know Bilbo’s name? And more importantly - what did he want? Just as Bilbo was about to voice some of the questions flitting through his mind, the stranger spoke again.

“Well, well, it’s been many years since I’ve seen your face, and you were quite a bit smaller at the time...but your manners were a bit better!” the man boomed, in a jesting tone. Bilbo simply stared, affronted.

“Well...are you going to let me in? It’s a bit…” the man paused, twitching the thick mustache on his lip and gazing around at the gloom, “...damp, out here.”

“Uh…um. Yes, sure - I suppose. Well-” Bilbo sputtered, feeling at a complete loss for words as the bearded stranger happily accepted his invitation and walked inside, shedding his hat and coat on his mother’s coat rack with such ease and familiarity that Bilbo’s suspicions grew.

“Erm...I’m sorry, but...who are you...exactly?” Bilbo managed, his heart racing with anxiety. He tried to physically slow his breathing before speaking again. “I don’t remember you, I’m sorry. But you seem to remember me.”

His guest looked up at him in what Bilbo could only imagine must have been thinly-veiled surprise, before the look was wiped away and replaced with the same smile, though perhaps somewhat diminished.

“Well, my apologies! Of course, you were so young the last time you saw me, and I had quite a bit less hair…” he trailed off, stroking his chin, before he caught sight of Bilbo’s anxious expression and cleared his throat, continuing hastily, “my name is Gandalf Grey. I was a colleague and...good friend of your mother’s. I used to-”

Bilbo couldn’t help but interrupt, the pieces suddenly falling back into place as he took in the plaid pants and nice shoes, the oxford-style suit jacket that had been revealed when Gandalf removed his coat. 

“Gandalf! I remember you! You used to come around the house so often when I was young - back when I was in primary school. How...how do you do?” he petered out a bit lamely, still in shock at this man that he hadn’t set eyes on in over a decade suddenly standing in his mother’s house.

Of course, how did he not recognize him? His mother used to have Gandalf over for tea at least once a month... _Well it might be that ridiculous Santa Claus beard and hairdo that had me fooled..._ he thought, excusing himself for not immediately recognizing the man.

“I am well, dear Bilbo, thank you for asking. Though, ah...I admit that it is I who should be asking about you…” Gandalf looked uncomfortable, suddenly, as he rubbed at his long grey whiskers. “Could I trouble you for a cup of tea? The journey here left a terrible chill in me, and I would love to sit and reminisce in Belladonna’s lovely kitchen…”

Bilbo felt his heart give a painful thud at the mention of his mother’s name, but nodded wordlessly, beckoning Gandalf to follow him as he padded down the hallway to the kitchen. The smell of the lemon biscuits filled the room and calmed him as he turned on the electric kettle. Once he had placed a few spoonfuls of his favorite loose-leaf chamomile in tea ball and pulled out his mother’s sturdy white teapot, he found himself out of things to fiddle with. He ran his fingertips over the little blue forget-me-nots painted painstakingly on the white glazed surface before sighing and turning to face his guest.

“So…” he began, twisting his fingers about each other as he was wont to do when the anxiety inside him grew and threatened to crash over his head like a wave. “I hope I’m not coming off as rude...but, well- um. It’s been over a decade since I’ve seen you and...and while you may have been a close friend of my mother’s at one point, I don’t seem to recall my mum...my mother talking about you much. So I suppose...I just wonder what brings you here, Gandalf.”

Bilbo cursed his stilted speech, forcing his hands down to his side when he felt the urge to fidget once more. Gandalf hardly seemed to notice, though. He actually looked a bit guilty, and heaved a deep sigh as he looked down at his hands.

“Bilbo...I am so sorry about the death of your mother, and so very sorry that I could not come to the funeral, I am filled with regret that I never got the chance to properly say goodbye to her,” Gandalf paused, looking up at Bilbo with a mournful expression.

“You see...my work, it has kept me away from home for far too long. Bella was always so supportive of my projects, and I used to come back whenever I could to visit, but...ah, the time passes so quickly.”

Bilbo could feel his frown deepening. He didn’t mean to glare at Gandalf, but listening to him talk about Bilbo’s mother gnawed at the hole in his chest, tearing at the flimsy stitching he’d been doing with little bits of self care for the past couple of years. The kettle clicked off silently and he turned around, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to regain his composure. He intently focused on pouring the hot water into the pot, watching the leaves slowly diffuse as Gandalf continued. 

“I feel as though I should explain. Your mother and I met when she was working in the Philippines. I was doing an anthropological study on the agricultural methods of the indigenous people there. I was so fascinated by every new culture I encountered, wanting to take notes endlessly and learn as much as I could from observation. But your mother...she was kind, and fierce, and compassionate. She admonished me for treating the people like subjects in an experiment. She made me talk to people more, get to know them personally. She changed my whole perspective as an anthropologist, and rightly so, I’d think. You should know as well as any young archaeologist how set in our problematic ways some of us old codgers can be. We must continue to evolve as a field!” Gandalf brought his fist down with a bit more force than intended against the wooden kitchen table, causing a vase to rattle, and Bilbo to flinch.

“Goodness me.” He quickly righted it, looking sheepish. 

Bilbo didn’t speak, but his mood and countenance had softened at hearing this tale of his mother’s compassion and fierce commitment to justice. He wordlessly placed a saucer with a cup of steaming tea in front of Gandalf, and then turned back to the counter to arrange the freshly-baked biscuits on a plate.

Gandalf was silent for a moment and then chuckled, lifting the cup from the saucer. 

“Chamomile, that was her favorite, wasn’t it? I recall that she didn’t appreciate my pointing out that an herbal blend is not-”

“Tea?” Bilbo finished with a derisive snort, turning around and placing the plate of biscuits on the table. “Yes, I think she heard that one quite a lot, and gave a rat’s arse about what others thought about her choice of beverage.”

Gandalf smiled, a genuine grin, and picked up a biscuit. “Yes, that was how she felt on most matters. She was such a truly delightful woman.”

Bilbo felt the fight drain out of him as he sat down across from Gandalf with his own cup of tea. He mostly just felt tired, and sensitive - as if one too many shared memories could rip him back open again.

“Good heavens Bilbo, these biscuits are divine!” Gandalf exclaimed, crumbs cascading down his wiry beard. “But I digress. The reason that I came here was to apologize to you, and express my condolences at you having lost your mother. She was a lovely woman and I wish I had stayed in better contact. These last few years I wanted to reach out to you so badly, but, er - political tensions have been high in the country I’ve been working in...I’ve been very preoccupied. But I needed to get back here to see you, and I’m so glad that I did.”

Bilbo took a long, slow sip of tea while he processed Gandalf’s words and carefully formulated a response. 

“Well, thank you, I suppose. That is very thoughtful of you.” he paused, nibbling at a biscuit. “But it’s been...quite some time since her - since she passed. I’m...I’ve moved on, somewhat. I’m er...teaching now.”

Gandalf smiled at him, looking pleased.

“I’d heard. An honorable profession. I was never very good at it. Though, the last I’d heard from Bella you were quite the jetsetter - she told me you’d been all over South and Central America on digs. I see those books I got you paid off,” he winked at Bilbo.

He was right about the books, Bilbo had to admit. When he was around 10 years old, Gandalf had gifted him a set of glossy picture books filled with images of larger than life geoglyphs in the Peruvian desert, intricately crafted facepots of the Moche, and the labyrinthine tunnels below the temple of Chavín de Huantar. He also received a heavy, thick-bound tome with a comprehensive history/art history of the Aztec Empire. Bilbo had ravenously consumed all of the books throughout the following years.

“So you’ve decided on teaching then?” Gandalf continued, breaking Bilbo from his reverie. “Not that you’re not suited for it, no, I believe any son of Bella’s would be up for the task. But from what she’d told me...well, I thought you’d be leading your own digs by now. It sounds like you were well on your way.”

Bilbo recoiled, feeling guilt and shame unfurling in his gut. The wave of anxiety rose up inside of him once more. 

“Yes, well. Things happen. Evidently I wasn’t cut out for it,” he managed, through gritted teeth.

Gandalf frowned, brow furrowed.

“Oh, I don’t think that at all.” His expression softened, those infuriatingly kind and searching eyes locking onto Bilbo’s. “I...heard what happened. With your program. And you should know, there is no shame in knowing when to step back and take time for yourself. However, if I knew Bella at all, I know that her son might not find fulfillment in a life teaching secondary school students and living in the house in the very backwoods town he sought to escape.”

Bilbo felt his temper flare. His eyes narrowed.

“Oh, do you know me? Because it seems to me that we are pretty much strangers. Yet you presume to make decisions for my life, in the name of my dead mum who you never bothered to check on in the last ten years?!”

Gandalf looked taken aback, and then a pained expression crossed his face. Bilbo already regretted his outburst, but he would not take it back. Who was this man, who considered himself so important as to burst into Bilbo’s peaceful life and rip open old wounds - and then proceed to tell him what he should be doing with his life?

“Bilbo, please,” Gandalf started, voice even. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you - you’re right, I should have been more involved in your mother’s life, especially towards the end. Like you, I did not think that she had so little time...but, regardless, there is another reason that I came here. All this about your teaching was to say that I may have a job opportunity for you, if you are not too tired of teaching, and if you think you could be ready to transition back into field and lab work.”

Bilbo felt his heart give a little flip. He didn’t even know what Gandalf was offering yet, but his physiological reaction seemed to betray what he had been telling himself for the last few years, that he was content with this life, doing this job, living in this house…

Bilbo crossed his arms and quirked a brow, silently urging Gandalf to go on.

“Do you know where I work, Bilbo?” Gandalf asked.

Bilbo snorted, not sure where this was leading. “Where haven’t you worked? Last I’d heard you’ve directed digs or worked for other projects in Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Peru, Cambodia...and apparently the Philippines.

“Yes, well.” Gandalf cleared his throat. “I suppose Cambodia was the last site you would have remembered. After I concluded my research in Asia, I decided to take a trip to Turkey, visit some spectacular sites I’d never gotten around to seeing. While I was there, I caught word of an intriguing excavation of a 6th Century Achaemenid Empire site...in a small country bordering Armenia and Azerbaijan.”

“Wha...you mean Georgia?” Bilbo asked, scrunching his nose as he struggled to recall the geography of the Caucuses. It was not an area he’d done much research in.

“No…” Gandalf looked excited, there was a spark in his eyes as he spoke about the project. “It’s called Erebor. An insular little country that values its privacy, and is nearly impassible with its mountainous terrain. It’s a very interesting little nation with a lot of wealth and rich history. But here’s what’s really intriguing.”

Bilbo was, to his great annoyance, intrigued. 

“The site turned out to be not at all what we thought. Not Achaemenid at all...something entirely different. Something...new. And unique to Erebor.”

Despite himself, Bilbo’s heart began to race. An undiscovered culture? Right smack in the middle of such a thoroughly explored region? The mountains must have played a role in keeping it hidden, as well as the insular nature of the country.

Gandalf pressed on, seemingly encouraged by Bilbo’s interest.

“Erebor is where I’ve been for the past...well, decade, I suppose. We’ve been working on deciphering an ancient written language...one we’ve never seen the likes of before. In appearance it’s somewhat reminiscent of cuneiform, but the similarities end there. It’s fascinating!” 

“So, are you trying to invite me on a dig, then?” Bilbo ventured, hesitant.

“Well…” Gandalf paused, taking an infuriatingly long sip from his teacup. “Not quite...at the moment.”

Bilbo sighed. _Of course,_ he thought. _Of course it was too good to be true._

“So the point of telling me all of this was...what? To rub it in? You’re living the dream while I’m trying to get 12 year olds interested in rocks?”

“No…! Of course not. I would never brag. You see, the political situation in Erebor is...complicated right now.”

“Complicated how?”

“Complicated in that it is too complex to describe in one sitting!” Gandalf grumbled, and then quickly devoured another biscuit before continuing. “You see, my contact in Erebor, the one who got me on the dig...is a man named Thorin Durin. I met him while traveling in Turkey. He’s an architect, and a lover of ancient history, particularly Ereborian history. He is also the grandson of the Minister of Culture, a member of the elite oligarchic class. You know how these post-soviet states go.”

Bilbo felt uneasy. What kind of foreign affairs was Gandalf wrapped up in? This sounded already terribly complicated, and Bilbo had a feeling things were just going to get hairier. 

“Thorin’s father Thrain died under mysterious circumstances many years ago. He had strongly opposed the isolationist positions of the government and of _his_ father - Thror.” Gandalf drew the name out with a sneer. “Thror is a corrupt man with no interest beyond lining his own pockets and keeping Erebor cut off from outsiders, no matter the cost. Thorin, much like his father, disagrees. He wants to share this incredible discovery with the world, and that’s what he has been trying to facilitate by funding this project so that perhaps we can get some linguists involved to decipher this ancient language...and get some decent field techs to analyze the tons of artifacts we’ve bagged and tagged over the years.”

“Well, anyway, that’s what he _had_ been doing, before...he believes that an assasination attempt was made on his and his two young nephews’ lives.”

Bilbo gasped. “Who tried to kill them?”

“Well,” Gandalf began, uneasily, “that is...unclear, at the moment. It's also unclear as to whether or not an attempt was truly made...”

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed. He sensed Gandalf was not telling the whole truth, but also that he was unlikely to drag out any more details from his visitor on that particular topic. He waited for Gandalf to continue. 

“Thorin expressed to me on multiple occasions that he would have left the country long ago were it not for the discovery of the site. Its presence and what it could mean for Erebor kept him there, but the corruption of the ruling class to which he was directly related sickened him. He did not want to take on a leadership role and he did not want to stay. The perceived threat to his nephews' lives was what finally prompted him to leave...and move to London.”

Bilbo sat silently, brain buzzing as he struggled to process all of the information as Gandalf went on to explain that Thorin had moved into an elegant and spacious townhouse in London with his sister, Dís, and her children Fili and Kili, who were 13 and 8 years old, respectively. He explained that the boys’ father had died many years ago, and Dis and Thorin were essentially raising them. Thorin continued to work as an architect, and Dis found a job in the Ereborian Embassy in London. Both of them had become very busy; though they had lived in comfort in Erebor, they had only been able to take some of their wealth with them, and they no longer had the privilege of existing in the ruling class.

And then, Gandalf dropped the bomb - the real reason, Bilbo assumed, that he had paid a visit. 

“They need a nanny...well, more of a private tutor slash supervisor...a nanny-tutor, if you will.”

Bilbo just blinked at him a few times in confusion, not sure why Gandalf was including this particular tidbit of information, and looking so expectantly at Bilbo. And then realization dawned on him.

“Oh - uh. Excuse me, what? You want me to be a nanny?” Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh. The situation was just too ridiculous.

“Well, more of a tutor to be exact. You see, the boys - Fíli and Kíli - they had private tutors back in Erebor, their quality of education was quite excellent-”

“I’m sure it was,” Bilbo interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Quality of education always goes up when you’re filthy rich.”

Gandalf chuckled lowly, pulling out a beautifully carved wooden pipe, and a distinctive sour smell drifted into Bilbo’s nostrils. He wanted to laugh again, this situation was so bizarre. An old man from his childhood who hadn’t spoken to him in over ten years showed up at his doorstep, told Bilbo he was unfulfilled in his life, instructed him to become a _glorified babysitter,_ and then proceeded to pull out some skunk and a piece. 

Gandalf stopped what he was doing as he pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and suddenly looked a tad sheepish. “Oh, my apologies Bilbo. Belladonna and I always used to have a smoke during these conversations in her kitchen. I suppose I did it out of habit. Would you terribly mind?”

Bilbo did let a small giggle loose now, how couldn’t he? This situation was so ridiculous it might’ve been a dream. _Perhaps,_ he thought, _I will wake up any minute now and the school year will have started, and I will be late to my first class._

“Oh bugger it. Why not. As long as you share.”

Gandalf smiled and lit the pipe, taking a long drag and exhaling through his nostrils. He passed the delicate wooden pipe to Bilbo, who grasped it carefully. It had been at least a year since he’d last smoked; he had done it habitually every day right after his mum’s death, but when he got the teaching jobs he simply didn’t have the time, and he certainly couldn’t come to work like that. He had definitely never smoked out of an old-timey tobacco pipe, and thought it amusing that Gandalf did.

Gandalf continued, slowly, as Bilbo puffed lightly at the lightweight pipe.

“Thorin would like an experienced educator, one who has proficiency and understanding of multiple scientific fields, as well as the arts - particularly architectural and art history, with anthropological training as a desired bonus.” Gandalf paused, grinning with a touch of mischief at Bilbo. “How is that treating you, dear boy?”

Bilbo fought back a smile and rolled his eyes, indeed much mellowed by the smoky haze descending upon him. He had forgotten just how well weed worked for his anxiety. 

_This was probably all part of Gandalf’s plan,_ he mused. _Get me high and then sell me your pitch._

It was a good plan. Bilbo already felt his interest piqued.

“Good, good. Well, as I was saying...You are an experienced educator, in all of those fields, and what’s more, you have experience in child care. Specifically in the care of late primary and early secondary students! Precisely the right age group. The only ‘nannying’ qualities the job would require are-”

“Wait, how do you know so much about my job history?” Bilbo interrupted, though somewhat more subdued than his previous interjections had been.

“Well, I may have...looked you up before visiting,” Gandalf held up his hands in defense. “I was curious! And I thought that you might have been a good person for the job before I even knew about your camp educator experience!”

“Alright. Weird, but continue.”

“Thank you. I would like to emphasize that the only nannying you’ll have to do is watching the boys after school and making sure that they get a decent dinner...as well as watching them on the weekends, occasionally. The Durins have very busy and long days, and want to make sure that Kili and Fili get the attention and the education that they deserve.”

Galdalf paused, picking up the pipe from where Bilbo had placed it on the table and taking another long drag.

“Also...Thorin has not given up on returning to Erebor, and completing the project, bringing in outside scientists...but he needs time to figure out how he’s going to do it, and he does not feel safe in Erebor right now. However, when I told him I had a successful archaeologist that might be on board for the job of tutor, he seemed open to the idea of you coming to work on the project once you had proven yourself as a tutor.”

Bilbo was having trouble processing all of this. It took him at least three seconds after Gandalf finished talking to realize that he was the “successful archaeologist” the man was referring to. He was hardly successful...a better epithet for him might have been “jack of all trades, master of none.” 

But…

It was true that he met the requirements for the job, easily. Between short teaching and substitute gigs he had taught just about all of those subjects, and had taken a multitude of classes on a graduate level in others. Plus, he really did like education, but teaching a classroom of 25 restless 12 year olds was overwhelming and felt more like herding sheep. He really relished the opportunity to work one-on-one with students or in small groups. He could teach these young boys all about the archaeology and art of South America, instill in them a passion for adventure and appreciation of global cultures as well.

But he couldn’t just uproot his life, quit his job, and move to London on a whim. He would be closer to some old friends, sure, but would they even want to see him? And what would he do with the house? He certainly didn’t want it falling into the greedy hands of Aunt Lobelia, who would surely sell all of his mother's possessions. And would he have to been a live-in nanny? Would he be required to live with these stuffy nobility in their ostentatious apartment with the memory of barely keeping himself afloat and surviving on takeout in his early teaching days? He thought not. He had no love for the obscenely wealthy. 

“Oh...and did I mention the salary? It’s quite large.” Gandalf rummaged around in his pants pocket for a moment before producing a somewhat wrinkled square of paper, which he carefully unfolded and slid across the table to Bilbo. 

Once he was able to take his eyes off of the impressive blue and silver crest heading the page, his eyes slid down to the bottom of the contract, where the yearly salary was highlighted in yellow.

“Oh my God,” Bilbo cried, covering his mouth with his hand.

He could pay off more than half of his debt with this. 

“And the Durins are happy to pay you a small stipend for housing, so that you may find an apartment in the city. As I’ve said, even though they may not hold the isolationist viewpoints of Throrin’s grandfather, they are a private people, and uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger coming to live with them.”

Bilbo could hardly even process what Gandalf was saying; he was still staring at the multi-figure salary on the page before him. This could be precisely the push he needed to get back into academia, even if getting to work in Erebor didn’t pan out...Yes, he might be able to talk to some faculty, re-enroll…

And then he remembered what his therapist had said to him, in the one session he attended at his aunt’s insistence following his mother’s death. She had been a sharp-featured woman, silver white hair loosely braided behind her, which only served to highlight her severe brow and high cheekbones, and Bilbo had felt like a lab specimen beneath her gaze. She asked him if he ever felt like his adventures were just excuses, reasons to keep running away. When he had snorted and indignantly asked her what, pray tell, was he running away from, she simply offered him cryptic smile and said, “you tell me.” He had never come back, and had hardly stopped thinking of the conversation and what she meant for years afterwards.

“Gandalf…” he began, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he felt the beginnings of a headache. “I...this job does sound nice. And yes, I could probably handle it, but...I need to stop running away from my life. This is my life now: I live in Hobbiton, I teach secondary kids science, and I don’t drop everything to run off on the next adventure everytime one presents itself. That’s not how adults handle their problems. It’s not...healthy.”

Bilbo was surprised at how resentful his voice sounded. He hadn’t meant it to.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Gandalf began to knock out the ashes of his pipe into a wastebasket by his chair, and then slowly rose.

“All I can ask, dear Bilbo, is that you consider this offer. I think it would be, if anything, a nice change of pace. You might even come to find that you love it.”

“I’ll...think about it.” Bilbo muttered, rising to collect dishes from the table. “But no promises. I like the stability I have now, I really do.”

Gandalf simply nodded and hummed, turning to walk down the short hallway to the front door and retrieve his jacket. 

“I believe you Bilbo.” he slid the grey trenchcoat and hat back on, pausing for a moment to look outside at the quickly darkening sky.

“Just make sure that you make up your mind within the next week and a half or so. Thorin has been antsy to get someone in the position before the school year starts.”

“A week and-” Bilbo started to sputter, indignant. 

“Here is the contract! I believe both of the Durins’ emails are on there. Make sure to reach out to both.” Gandalf pressed the folded paper from earlier into Bilbo’s hands, ignoring his host’s attempts to question him on his earlier statement. “It was so lovely to be in Bella’s home once more, with the wide-eyed child I remember grown into a sensible and intelligent young man! Thank you for the tea, and your hospitality! Now I really must run. Take care, Bilbo!” 

Gandalf was out the door before he finished his sentence.

“Uh...goodbye…” Bilbo muttered at the man’s retreating form as he ran for his car through the lightly drizzling rain.

He watched Gandalf’s little silver car pull out of the gravel driveway and speed off, and wondered if it was about time to wake up from that dream, now.

~

It rained for the rest of the night, and neither a warm supper, tea, nor curling up with his favorite book could distract him from the anxiety that clenched and unclenched his gut.

 _Am I seriously considering this?_ He thought to himself, something similar to butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

He slammed his book shut with a huff and placed it on his coffee table. He then headed to his mother’s sturdy pine bookshelf. He had filled the antique with his personal library, but several stacks of books were still piled haphazardly on the floor. He couldn’t yet bear to take down his mother’s books from the shelves and make room for some of his own.

He pulled out a dusty atlas and turned to a map of Eastern Europe and Asia, placing the large tome on the table. There it was, the tiny nation sandwiched between Armenia and Azerbaijan, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. The entire country looked as though it was in the mountains; there didn’t appear to be any flatlands at all. He looked up the entry for the country and found it quite lacking. The only significant information that he discovered was that despite the strong role religion played in it’s neighboring countries, the majority of the country’s population was listed as “non-religious” while a small minority was vaguely labeled “other.”

Frustrated and not much in the mood for dry, historical readings, Bilbo opened his laptop and googled “Thorin Durin.” It took quite a few combinations of search word (adding “Erebor” to his search hadn’t revealed anything about Thorin, but quite a few hits came up regarding Thror Durin) until he finally stumbled across the website of the architectural firm that Thorin worked for. He felt vaguely like a cyber-stalker as he combed through the website, finally finding a staff page. About halfway down the page was a pixelated portrait next to the name “T. Durin” and a woefully short bio consisting of one sentence, describing the work that he did. Though the portrait was small, and blurry, Bilbo could tell that Thorin was an attractive man. He had a curly mane of dark hair tied behind him, framing his handsome face. A square jaw set with a frown, with a light beard and pale blue eyes overhung with thick black brows. 

_Of course._ Bilbo thought, _He’s nobility, essentially. Don’t know what I expected. I’m sure he has an ego about it too._

Bilbo don’t know what it was in the end that compelled him to send the email to the Durins. Perhaps it was the two glasses of red wine he had downed after he had given up on tea. 

The short missive expressed his interest in hearing more about the position and what exactly the responsibilities would entail. His manners were impeccable in writing, as always, though he fretted for a while on how to address the two siblings before deciding on simple titles with their full names. He attached his CV, resume, and one of his best teaching evaluations for good measure. Finally, he made sure to thoroughly proofread it before sending it off, on extra alert due to his slight tipsiness. 

Only after he had sent it off did he allow himself to fully realize what he’d done.

“I’ve not committed yet…” he muttered to himself, turning his wine glass upside down to catch the last few drops.

He found himself doing some research on Erebor’s history and culture over the next hour and a half - which eventually resulted in an extensive google image search of its topography. It was almost unfairly idyllic and beautiful. He had been right, the entire country was situated in a range of sharp peaks that jutted from the landscape, called the “Misty Mountains” in English. He hadn’t struggled with the elevation sickness as much as some of his colleagues when he was working in the highlands of Peru, but he wondered if these peaks were even taller than the Andes.

Just as he was about to take a sip from his third glass of wine, a notification popped up on his desktop, reading “Re: Inquiry about tutor position, From: Thorin Durin.” Bilbo’s stomach flipped uncomfortably as he hovered his mouse over the panel. He took a deep swig of the wine, grimacing as he opened the email.

“Mr. Baggins,

Mr. Grey informed me that I might be hearing from you. As you may know, I would like to expedite this process. Your qualifications seem sufficient for the position, but I would like to speak to you in person. If you are available this Saturday, come in for an interview at your earliest convenience (reply to this email with the time you will be arriving). Be prepared to meet the boys as well.”

The address to the townhouse and parking directions where written beneath. Bilbo raised his eyebrows when he recognized the street name. _Well, I knew they were rich…_

The email was signed “Sincerely, Thorin Durin.” Bilbo knew it was petty, but reading Thorin’s reply had felt a bit anti-climatic. He understood that the other man didn’t yet know him, and Gandalf had said that Ereborians had a tendency to be a bit cagey with outsiders, but surely a little bit of politeness in the email wouldn’t have killed him? 

_He could have at least said ‘please,’_ thought Bilbo, sipping at his wine absently.

He couldn’t stay mad for long, though...despite Thorin’s curt email he was all but certain the job was his, if he wanted it. His head spun, and he was sure it wasn’t from the wine. What was he even doing? What was he thinking?

He closed his laptop with a thump, and placed it down on the coffee table where the atlas was still opened to the page on Erebor. Looking at the small outline of the country, so far away from where he was now, he couldn’t help the smile that creeped onto his face, and shooed away the worried voices in his head demanding answers to his incessant anxieties.

He was going on an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that Thorin and Bilbo will interact in the next chapter...either up tomorrow or the day after :) Also anyone who says that Longbottom Leaf isn't just weed is a coward.
> 
> <3


	3. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billbo meets the Durins.

Bilbo frowned at his reflection, holding a powder blue tie up to his throat. Sighing, he flung it down onto his bed, and began loosening the green tie around his neck. He hated them both.

Getting dressed to teach his classes was so easy because he really didn’t care all that much about how he looked. Same sports jacket, same plain or striped white button up, and a blue, green, or gray tie snug against his neck. He didn’t incorporate a lot of variety - he wasn’t particularly concerned with impressing 12 year olds.

Except that now he _was_ worried about impressing a 13 year old, though more accurately, that 13 year old’s curt uncle who would be signing his paychecks. If he got the job. Bilbo was almost certain that he would, but he could never go into any sort of job interview without feeling terribly anxious.

He surveyed the scene in front of him: several once crisply ironed collared shirts were strewn across the bed, Bilbo’s work ties snaking in and out of the fabric. A sad rumpled pair of trousers was half-tossed on the floor. He buried his face in his hands and groaned. How the hell was a tutor-slash-nanny supposed to dress anyway? And did he have to dress really fancy because they were quasi-nobility? 

He finally decided that he needed to be comfortable, or he was going to sweat through everything. He always felt like he was slowly asphyxiating when he wore ties to interviews. In the end, he settled on a cozy, cream-colored cable-knit sweater over his dark brown collared shirt and brown trousers. He slipped his well-loved tweed jacket over the sweater and felt a little better when he observed himself in the mirror. It was an outfit he’d often worn to TA during graduate school, back when he really _was_ concerned with looking academic yet fashionable to the undergraduates.

He checked his watch and felt his stomach give another little nervous flip. He needed to leave in the next fifteen minutes to make sure he got to London in time to make his meeting at 2. He walked out into his living room and shuffled around for a few minutes, rearranging chachkis and various ephemera on the mantle and bookshelves, trying to find an outlet for his nervous energy. He checked his phone once more to make sure the address was programmed in. He turned to the bookshelf and in a last minute decision, slid out two books from the bottom shelf and carried them with him as he turned and walked out the door, locking it behind him.

~

Bilbo had forgotten how much he disliked the drive from his mother’s house to London. He used to do it a lot more frequently, and could have sworn it felt shorter at the time. Had it always been a three and a half hour drive?

Long drives stressed him out. If he was going to take this job he would need to make sure his mother’s house was in good hands, because he didn’t plan on returning frequently to take care of it. He had been thinking about that particular conundrum for the last hour or so of his drive before a thought came to him. 

Bilbo had generally avoided his extended family (much to their chagrin) over the last couple of years following his mother’s death. He found the majority of them, particularly the Sackville-Baggins, to be a nosy and judgemental lot. The Tooks weren’t so bad at all, but there weren’t many around anymore. There were others that weren’t so bad, either. His mind drifted to his second (or was it third?) cousin Drogo Baggins and his lovely wife, Primula. He was the sensible, simple Baggins type - Bilbo seemed to recall that he worked in a fishery. Primula Brandybuck, however, was an artist. He remembered meeting Primula for the first time years ago - it may have been the last Christmas that his mother had felt well enough to host the family. Her and Drogo had shown for his mother’s funeral, too; Primula had been very pregnant at the time, and a short time later he recalled seeing a picture on social media of a chubby, rosy-cheeked little boy with dark brown curls and piercing blue eyes.

And then of course, everything had promptly gone to hell in Bilbo’s life and he had abandoned social media. Guilt coursed through him; he knew that they didn’t have a lot of money, and taking care of a newborn was a lot of work. He wondered if they were still living in that artsy loft apartment in Liverpool - hardly suitable for a family.Their son Frodo must have been a toddler by now...and Bilbo still hadn’t met him. Bilbo cursed under his breath and made a mental note to himself to drop Drogo and Primula a message when he got home.

 _Perhaps I should give the house to them,_ he thought, flipping on his window wipers as the rain began to fall a little more heavily. _Lobelia would lose her mind. But they would really enjoy it, and really take care of it. And...my mother would have liked that._

His mother hadn’t left much in the way of an inheritance - she had hardly had anything left after she passed. The inheritance she left Bilbo was the house, and all of his relatives were greedily lusting after it. It felt only right to let a relative use it that actually deserved it.

 _What’s the point of planning so far ahead? Don’t get your hopes up. You probably won’t even get this job,_ a little voice hissed in the back of his head. 

“Oh, bugger off.” he muttered. 

~

By the time he’d made it to the neighborhood full of towering, cream and beige colored townhouses - complete with the cleanest sidewalks Bilbo had ever seen in London - he was nearly late. He was supposed to be meeting the Durins in five minutes, and he had no idea where he was supposed to park. Through the panic, he vaguely remembered the parking directions Thorin had given him, but he didn’t have time to pull out his phone, and besides that he likely would have crashed his car in the state he was in. How had he forgotten how traumatizing an experience it was to drive in London?

He realized, as he finally slid his car into a too-small spot, several blocks away in front of a shop, that it was because he had taken the tube or buses everywhere back in his university days.

He rushed out of his car, cursing as heavy raindrops _plunked_ down onto his hair. Bilbo grabbed his umbrella and the books, and took off down the sidewalk at a full run. It was 2 o’clock. By the time he reached the townhouse, looking up at a sturdy wooden door stained a deep mahogany color, he had abandoned the umbrella in favor of running a bit faster, and his hair and the shoulders of his jacket were considerably...damper. He had held the books inside of his suit jacket, so they luckily remained undamaged. 

Swallowing, he hurried up the steps and paused only for a moment in front of the door before he knocked three times. He felt his heart race as he regarded a small design above the brass knocker: a little acorn with scroll motifs and small, scalloped leaves extending from either side. The design seemed to be crafted from a lighter wood - perhaps pine - and inlaid into the darker wood of the door. It was a fascinating little personalized touch, and just as Bilbo started to wonder at the story behind it, the door abruptly swung open to reveal…

A staircase. Bilbo shifted his vision down, and in front of him stood a child with large brown eyes, rather large ears, and a wide grin which was missing several front teeth. He couldn’t have been over 10, so Bilbo assumed this was Kíli. The boy’s wavy hair fell to his shoulders and half was tied up in a messy bun at the back of his head. He had a thick, dark pair of eyebrows and his eyes were wide with excitement.

Before Bilbo could even speak, the child released a loud, quick stream of excited words.

“HELLO! Are you Mister Boggins? You’re going to be our new nanny, right? I’m Kíli! I’m 8 years old! My favorite animal is a giraffe!” Kíli paused, sucking on his thumb briefly with a thoughtful look before pulling it out and continuing in a somewhat serious tone. “Pleased to make your amquiantance.”

He finished proudly. Bilbo felt his heart lift about 10 kilos at the display.

“Pleased to meet you too, Kíli!” he chuckled, bending over slightly to be on eye level with the child as he reached out a hand to shake. “My name is Bilbo Baggins, and yes, I am here to talk to your uncle...and then maybe I will be your new tutor...and nanny, I suppose.”

Kíli took the proffered hand and shook it vigorously, seeming to not have registered much of what Bilbo had said. Suddenly, his grip tightened on Bilbo’s hand and he dragged the other forward into the house with surprising strength for such a little body. Bilbo, who had been slightly bent over to talk with Kíli, nearly toppled over as he was pulled inside.

“Come on, then! Uncle is waiting for you!” Kíli finally released Bilbo’s hand and beckoned for him to follow as he sped down the hallway past the stairs, socks sliding slightly on the pristine hardwood floors. 

Bilbo had sort of hoped for a chance to take in his surroundings a little more, get a tad more comfortable before starting his interview, but he supposed he had ruined that chance by being late. Bilbo quickly deposited his umbrella in the tall holder by the door and followed after the buzzing 8 year old. 

Kíli continued to bombard him with questions about his favorite animal, his favorite color, why he was wet, did he believe in aliens, and did he like candy, as he rounded a corner into a bright, open sitting room. Bilbo nearly gasped when he entered - it was like one of those fancy Manhattan apartments you saw featured in magazines: the blonde, thin, wealthy woman standing in a Chanel dress in front of floor to ceiling windows holding a martini.

The room was practically all windows on the South side, minimalist, monochromatic gestural paintings lining the small strips of wall space between them. On one side of the room sat a twin set of wooden bookshelves stained a dark red-brown, lined with expensive looking leather-bound books and a few golden plaques mounted on polished wood. There were also a number of fascinating lithic-looking artifacts atop the shelves that immediately captured Bilbo’s attention. They did not look familiar to him. He wanted to get a closer look, but he was late as it was and decided not to push his luck, heading over to a long, plush-looking green velvet sofa that sat across from a large fireplace. The coffee table was a chic slab of marble sitting atop gilded, minimalist crossed legs that disappeared into a fluffy white carpet.

Overall, the room was incredibly tasteful. The wealthy could often be tacky in their decorations, but Bilbo loved this room. A small smile curled on his lips when he spotted a pothos plant hanging high in the corner by the front windows, a three-foot long vine cascading lazily from the suspended pot downwards. 

He did not notice Kíli scamper out of the room, nor the tall figure that appeared in the other doorway a few moments later.

“You’re late.”

Bilbo startled from the noise and whipped around to locate the source of the voice. A man he assumed could only be Thorin Durin stood in the doorway, looking far taller and more unfairly handsome than Bilbo had expected.

The grainy photograph on the website did not do him justice. The man had a stocky build, wide shoulders and thick-muscled arms straining against a deep blue (and thin, quite thin) button down shirt tucked into a close-fitting pair of charcoal gray trousers. Thorin’s face and hair also revealed he was a bit older than when the picture was taken - his angular features were recognizable from the photo, but crows feet fanned out at the edges of his steely blue eyes, and thick clusters of silver strands banded his dark wavy hair, which was tied back loosely behind him.

Bilbo swallowed, his brain short-circuiting at the handsome stranger scowling disapprovingly at him from across the room. He felt his palms grow clammy and his stomach dropped as he processed what had actually been said to him.

“Ah...yes, I’m quite sorry. I’m not used to driving in London so um...yes. Well. Apologies, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Durin!” Bilbo spluttered, trying desperately to pull himself together.

He cringed in internally listening to the words falling clumsily from his mouth and tried his best not to let it show on his face. Thorin’s expression hardly changed as he appraised Bilbo with a steady glare, eyes never leaving him. Bilbo tried his utmost not to squirm.

“I see you’ve met Kíli. He filled me in on your exchange,” Thorin began, his deep voice filling the high-ceilinged room with a pleasant rumble.

He gestured for Bilbo to sit on the couch as he walked into the room, finally offering Bilbo a respite from his intense stare when he looked away.

“But...Kíli just...filled you in? Didn’t he just leave the room not 30 seconds ago?”

Thorin looked back up at him as he sat in a lavishly-upholstered tub-style chair adjacent to the couch. Bilbo saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards in what could have been mistaken for a smile.

“He’s adept at relaying information quickly.”

Bilbo’s offered a hesitant smile as he recalled the boy’s initial onslaught of questions.

“Yes, I’d noticed. He seems like a curious lad.”

Thorin nodded. “Indeed.” His face had returned to it’s default expression, which was evidently grumpy and slightly suspicious with a hint of disdain.

There was a moment of awkward silence where Bilbo became acutely aware of the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. Willing his heart rate to slow down, he spoke again.

“Erm...well, is there uh...anything you’d like to ask me? I’d be happy to speak on my qualifications, though I suppose you’re familiar with my resume at this point.” 

“Mm.” Thorin had slipped out a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and opened the manila folder in his hands.

 _God Damn it._ Bilbo internally groaned as Thorin slid the glasses onto his face. _Did he have to be_ this _hot? I mean, I expected some baseline hotness but this is bloody cruel._

Thorin was silent for a few moments as he scanned the inside of the folder, and then looked up at Bilbo, eyes slightly narrowed.

“You’re wet,” he stated, frowning.

“Er...yes. It’s...raining.”

 _Kill me now,_ Bilbo thought, nearly crawling out of his skin as Thorin continued to glare at him. _This is so AWKWARD._

After an agonizing few moments, Thorin cleared his throat. 

“Well, Mr. Baggins, I’m sure Gandalf has already informed you of the details of the job. On weekdays you will be responsible for picking the boys up from school, administering their afternoon lessons, ensuring that they eat dinner, helping them with homework as needed, and on some occasions, making sure that they get to bed. On weekends you will generally be on call. You will, on some days, have to watch Fíli and Kíli for the entire day, and arrange daytime activities for them. There will be funds allocated for this.” Thorin paused, leaning back and looking over his glasses at Bilbo. “This all sounds acceptable so far?”

Bilbo started, not expecting the question. “Oh, yes! Of course.”

He realized after he answered that he would likely have to drive to pick the boys up from their respective schools, and he felt his anxiety spike at the prospect. He decided to keep that to himself for now, Thorin did not seem the overly-sympathetic type.

“Good,” Thorin said, looking back down at the file in his hands. “And the subjects you are tutoring…I have no doubt that you will be able to help Kíli with all of his work, and Fíli with his history and art, but you will also need a passable knowledge of chemistry. Will this be an issue?”

Bilbo felt his face heat slightly at the comment. The nervousness from before was slipping away, annoyance taking its place. He smiled politely, forcing himself to keep his tone even.

“My current job involves teaching kids a bit of chemistry. I’m a geology instructor at a secondary school near Sheffield.”

“Yes...I was informed,” Thorin drawled, ignoring Bilbo in favor of looking down into the file he was holding.

Handsome or not, Thorin’s rudeness was not a good look, and Bilbo could feel his patience waning. He had worked hard for his achievements, and he had done quite well in school.

“But Fíli is taking an upper-level chemistry class. He’s quite gifted in the sciences, so he will need a tutor who is...more professionally trained.”

An indignant heat rose in Bilbo’s chest and his lips tightened as the polite smile became forced. 

“I worked as a lab assistant elementally sourcing obsidian from a volcanic valley in Mexico using portable X-Ray Fluorescence technology. I was also trained in the use of Inductively Coupled Plasma Mass Spectrometry to ionize paint samples from ceramics to determine if they were forgeries. Oh, and I processed the data for both of these projects in a statistical analysis program. Do you think that’s _sufficient?”_

Bilbo smiled sweetly, though his guts were twisted in a tight knot of anxiety. Thorin might not have known that many archaeologists were extensively trained in different methods of scientific analysis, and he certainly didn’t know that having pretentious outsiders question his abilities as a scientist made Bilbo see red. He considered himself an archaeologist, first and foremost, but he was certainly qualified enough to teach basic chemistry to a 13 year old. 

Thorin, to his credit, looked shocked and a tad cowed. He clearly hadn’t expected that answer from the flustered and red cheeked man who had stuttered out half of his earlier answers. He frowned, though without malice, and looked as though he was considering how to respond when his eyes slid past Bilbo and behind him.

“Fíli, I told you to stay in your room until I called for you. I am speaking with Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo turned around in his seat to see the older of Thorin’s nephews standing in the doorway from which his uncle had emerged, a scowl on his face. He looked quite a bit different from Kíli and Thorin, his hair and eyebrows a sandy blonde color as opposed to the dark, inky brown of his Uncle and brother, and he had slightly softer features and greyer eyes. The familial resemblance was, however, most striking in the disdainful scowl on the preteen’s face.

“I wanted to meet him. Kíli said he was nice,” Fíli offered with a shrug, carefully maintained teenage detachment just barely betraying a look of curiosity in his eyes, which were now fixed on Bilbo.

Bilbo smiled genuinely. Kids this age didn’t scare him anymore, not after his nearly 3 years of teaching secondary school students. He knew that it was a painful and confusing time for a lot of kids, and there was a desperate need to communicate that one didn’t care about anything.

Thorin glared at Fíli and he stared back at his uncle with a bored expression. Silence reigned, and Bilbo once again fought the urge to fidget. It seemed that awkward silences were a regular occurence in this house. He spoke again once he could no longer tolerate the tension.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fíli. I hear you’ve got quite a knack for chemistry! I used to do a bit of that myself.” 

Fíli shrugged, but Bilbo could see the boy struggle to hide a smile and small look of pride.

“I’m okay at it. Science is interesting. But I’m more interested in history and stuff.”

Bilbo briefly slipped his eyes over to scan Thorin’s face while Fíli spoke, expecting his expression to have darkened further into a scowl, but to Bilbo’s surprise it remained carefully neutral. Feeling a bit more comfortable talking to Fíli now that Thorin didn’t look _as_ openly hostile, Bilbo nodded and continued the conversation.

“I’m a big fan of history too. I like ancient history a lot. What kind of history are you interested in?”

Fíli looked back at Thorin, suddenly a tad hesitant. Bilbo watched as Thorin sighed and gestured for Fíli to come in the room. Fíli walked over to the couch but remained standing, leaning against the arm and looking a little uncomfortable, but curious nonetheless. 

“I like ancient history too. I’m interested in Erebor’s history. That’s our home, by the way,” Fíli paused, fiddling with them hem of his shirt sleeves. 

Bilbo nodded, encouraging the boy to go on.

“It’s really cool. Especially the really old history from before all the...empires and stuff, from outside. I have a really good book on it, if you’re interested. Since you like history too,” Fíli tapered off, shrugging in an attempt at nonchalance.

Bilbo’s heart swelled for the kid. 

_Aw, he’s just a little history nerd. I’m sure we’ll get along fine._  
  
“I’d like that a lot, Fíli. I’m always trying to learn about as many cultures as I can.” Bilbo replied, grinning. “And in fact - I have a great book to let you borrow, too.”

Fíli’s eyes widened slightly as Bilbo plucked one of the books he had brought with him up from the floor where he had carefully placed it after sitting down. 

“You just have to promise to return it,” Bilbo said in a conspiratorial tone, leaning over to hand the book to Fíli. “It’s one of my favorites, an archaeologist who was friends with my mum gave it to me when I was a bit younger than you. It’s about a temple called Chavín de Huantar, that’s right at the bottom of the mountains in Peru, called the Andes. There’s some pretty cool stuff in there. You’ve heard of King Minos and his labyrinth, probably?”

Fíli nodded quickly, flipping the book open and drinking in the full-color photographs. Bilbo loved that book.

“This temple is a kind of like that maze. Crazy and windy with mirrors to make it even more confusing.”

“This is cool!” Fíli cracked a smile for the first time since entering the room. “Thank you, Mr. Baggins. I promise I’ll give it back.”

“Just ‘Bilbo’ is fine. And you’re very welcome,” Bilbo replied, feeling a bit giddy at his first encounter with the older of the two siblings having gone so well.

He looked over at Thorin and realized with a start that the other was watching his and Fíli’s interaction closely, with a lot more warmth in his expression than Bilbo had yet to see. He was suddenly struck by how quickly those stormy blue eyes had turned from icily aloof to sparkling with amusement and fondness. Thorin met his eyes and the slight crook in the corner of his lips dropped, but the warmth in his eyes remained.

It suited him, Bilbo decided. After a moment he looked down and away under the scrutiny of that gaze. Fíli had retreated - Bilbo heard the sound of pounding footsteps as he raced (presumably) to his room - and Thorin had stood from his chair to cross over to the side of the couch where Fíli had just been. Bilbo swallowed at the sudden proximity, worried that he was perhaps going to get chewed out. Thorin bent over and reached for the other book on the floor, quirking one thick eyebrow at Bilbo as he stood back up, and then opened the book. It was a thick volume entitled “Art and Architecture of the Aztec Empire” with a glossy photo of a turquoise mosaic facsimile of a face on the cover, with a laughing mouth and golden eyes. He couldn’t help the corners of his mouth twitching up in a small smile at the rapt attention Thorin was paying to the book. It had always been one of Bilbo’s favorites.

“That’s the first time in months I’ve seen Fíli actually express interest in something. He is very concerned with making sure everyone knows that he doesn’t care about anything.” Thorin looked up at Bilbo and the latter swore there was a hint of mirth hiding behind the stoic countenance. 

“Really? He seems very passionate about history. I’m surprised.”

Thorin looked back down at the pages as he spoke. “You wouldn’t know it, most of the time. You got him to smile - he doesn’t do that very often anymore.”

Thorin sighed, pushing his glasses up onto his head and placing the book on the marble table top. 

“Fíli has been very unhappy since we left Erebor. All he’s wanted to do since we left is to go back.” Thorin looked like he wanted to say more, but remained silent after speaking.

“Well...I’m sorry about that. It seems...like a difficult situation. But, I really think that both of the boys are great, honestly. They seem curious, and smart, and sweet.”

Bilbo supposed he was inspired by Thorin’s show of candor, it made him a tad less intimidating and Bilbo, for some reason, felt compelled to offer him some sort of reassurance. 

Thorin cracked a genuine smile in response, close-lipped and small, but the crows feet on the corners of his eyes wrinkled and his eyes softened indescribably. Bilbo’s heart did a little flip and he mentally cursed. He decided immediately that he liked being the cause of _that_ smile and that he would endeavor to do it more in the future.

“They are. They are my world. Things have been hard for them recently, and they haven’t gotten the attention that they’ve needed or deserved.” Thorin frowned, his expression closing off. “It’s rare that both of them make a positive connection with other adults. We’ve tried a...few nannies. But they like you, almost instantly, it seems.”

Thorin looked a little annoyed for a moment, but schooled his expression before he continued.

“I admit that I had my doubts about you based on Gandalf’s recommendation, but I think that your ability to connect with Fíli and Kíli...as well as your qualifications, have made me change my mind. For the time being.”

Bilbo stared, mouth fallen slightly open for half a beat before realizing Thorin was offering him a job and jumping up to stand in front of him.

“Oh! Well, I’m very glad!” Bilbo smiled, suddenly feeling unsure what to say. 

Thorin looked away, shuffling the papers and folder in his hands and then turning to walk to a small black writing desk tucked in a corner. He pulled a paper from the top and walked back.

“I have a copy of the contract here, which you can feel free to take home and look at before you sign, if you’d like. But I would like to have your answer by Monday, if possible.”

“Thank you. Of course, I’ll be sure to email you a copy.”

“Oh, and - it says on the contract - but you will receive a stipend for an apartment, so you may want to start looking at places. You could...stop here, if you need to, while you’re looking for a place. It would be good for you to get to know Fíli and Kíli better. I also know a good realtor I can put you in touch with.”

Bilbo felt touched by the kindness of the gesture, disguised by a gruff voice though it was.

“Thank you. Really.” Bilbo beamed with genuine excitement.

“Oh, and Mr. Baggins?”

“Yes?”

“Try to be on time in the future.”

Bilbo immediately felt his cheeks grow hot.  
  
_Nevermind. What a wanker._

~

When Bilbo finally left the townhouse it was nearly 4, and the sun had just barely begun to peak out of a thick layer of clouds, illuminating the wet sidewalks with warm afternoon light. Thorin had asked him if he wanted a brief tour of the house, and before Bilbo could politely decline, Kíli had jumped from behind the doorway and insisted on leading the tour. Thorin had acquiesced. 

Bilbo was then led on the most chaotic and unorganized tour of his life, but he did get plenty of time to appreciate the beautiful interior of the house, and the consistently tasteful and elegant interior design of each space. Bilbo almost tripped over his feet when he spotted an original Helen Frankenthaler - though a small one - that Kíli identified as the “Frankenstein painting.” The Durins appeared to have quite a bit of money.

Bilbo was feeling something that he hadn’t felt in quite some time - excitement. He grinned to himself as he walked to his car, in no major rush at this point. This was just a means to a possible end - getting to work on that dig in Erebor - but the job didn’t seem so bad, after all. He had meant what he said to Thorin about Fíli and Kíli, and they definitely seemed better behaved than a good half of his normal fare of pupils.

And Thorin was...an interesting character. Bilbo really wanted to just shut down that train of thought right there, but his mind instead helpfully provided images of Thorin’s genuine smile of affection for his nephews, and his stupid, brooding face in reading glasses, and _that is enough of that, thank you very much,_ Bilbo thought, rubbing at his chin.

 _I need to call Drogo and Primula,_ he realized suddenly, a new wave of anxiety washing over him at having to now _actually_ deal with giving the house away and moving out. 

Bilbo unlocked his mother’s car as he approached the little shop it was parked in front of. 

_Oh. Shit. I need to quit my other job, too._ The school year hadn’t started yet, but Bilbo was expected to teach that fall. He began to chew on his lip as he started his car, glancing at himself nervously in the rear-view mirror. _I can’t believe I’m moving back to London. What if I’m making a terrible mistake?_

He looked down at his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he reached the entry for “Drogo Baggins,” hovering his thumb over the call button. It had been a long time. 

Bilbo swallowed his guilt and called the number, setting out for his mother’s home.

~ __  
  
  


Bilbo and Drogo had spoken for almost an hour while Bilbo made his long trek back to Hobbiton. Drogo, to his surprise, also expressed guilt at having not reached out to Bilbo sooner after his mother’s death, to check on him. They had just been so busy since Frodo was born, and were having a bit of financial difficulty.

Bilbo had assured him that he harbored no ill-will; Drogo and Primula had been incredibly kind and compassionate towards him during the week of his mother’s funeral. Part of what had made that time so difficult was that a dozen or so of Bilbo’s relatives had hung around the house all day every day, and several were staying in the two extra bedrooms in the house, another claiming the lumpy couch in the living room. Bilbo had invited Drogo and Primula to stay in the house as they had traveled the farthest and Primula looked fit to burst any minute, her large, round belly dwarfing her petite frame. 

The other relatives had just sort of invited themselves to stay, no doubt speaking ill of Bilbo behind closed doors at him having inherited her house . From their perspective he was an ungrateful and hapless graduate student who lived hours away and had no right to the large house.

Primula and Drogo had actually stayed the longest after his mother’s funeral, just about the full week. Bilbo had found excuses to shoo out the other relatives, but couldn’t find it in him to do the same to the young couple. They were quiet, kind, and silently went about cleaning the house or cooking food without being asked, simply content to help Bilbo accomplish these simple yet daunting tasks while he was feeling numb and helpless. He had really appreciated their presence, even if he hadn’t shown it as much as he had meant to at the time.

Drogo updated him on their life during the call: Primula had taken on a job with a graphic design firm, which was finally starting to bring in more money, but she didn’t enjoy the work and was exhausted all of the time. The were also constantly scrambling to find a babysitter for Frodo throughout the day so that they could both work and afford rent and groceries. Bilbo felt for him - he had been in a somewhat similar situation a few years ago, but he had had the luxury of a house already paid off to live in, and no infant child to take care of. It was at that point that Bilbo made up his mind.

He knew that Drogo wasn’t asking him or trying to pressure him for anything, and he also didn’t believe in fate, but he did know when to take advantage of a good opportunity when he saw one, especially if it resulted in bringing someone else happiness. He asked Drogo, out of the blue, if it would be alright for him to visit for a day trip sometime in the coming week. Drogo had seemed surprised but happy, and told him that while they both worked somewhat erratic schedules, they were usually around on Tuesday nights. Bilbo almost agreed, but then remembered that he had told Thorin he would get back to him about the job by Monday. He had hesitantly asked Drogo if there was any chance that he could stop by for dinner tomorrow – Sunday – and reassured his cousin that _he_ would bring dinner, he insisted, and he would explain everything when he was there. Drogo seemed a bit bewildered and hesitated for a moment before answering, but then eventually agreed and told Bilbo he was looking forward to seeing him.

When Bilbo finally pulled into the gravel driveway of his mother’s house, he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was peel off his clothes and pass out in bed, but his stomach grumbled pointedly as he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He shuffled into the house, flipping on the lights and hanging his coat on the rack. He gingerly placed the remaining of the two books he had brought back with him on his mother’s coffee table and headed into the kitchen.

He glared balefully at his inside of his empty fridge and swung it shut. It was evidently going to be ramen, tonight.

He was bone-tired, but as he sat cross-legged on his couch eating from a cup of noodles, an article about Erebor open on his laptop, he didn’t feel pathetic, or hopeless, or lonely.

He felt hopeful – and maybe even a little excited. He decided that regardless of having already been offered the job, he would stick to the niceties that his mother had always hammered into him for the interview processes. He opened up a new tab on his browser and began to compose an email to Thorin, thanking him for the opportunity to come in and talk and expressing that it was a pleasure to have met the boys and toured the house, and that he just had to check on a few arrangements tomorrow and would get back to Thorin by Monday as they had agreed. He knew it was an unnecessary formality, but he always did it after an interview to make a good impression. He was particularly concerned with making a good impression with Thorin, who seemed a tough nut to crack. 

_It would be nice to be on the receiving end of that smile every now and then,_ Bilbo thought, chewing down on his lip as he hesitated over the phrasing of his email. _As opposed to the scowl I got for most of the interview._

He internally chided himself, pushing past the thoughts as he concluded his email with a “Sincerely yours, Bilbo Baggins.”

 _A bit much, that._ Bilbo thought, slightly embarrassed, and hastily backspaced the “yours.”

He reviewed the email quickly for grammar errors and then sent it off before he could worry over it any further. He sighed contently and clicked back to the article on Erebor, pushing his reading glasses back up onto his nose. He read until he had finished his dinner and his eyes were growing heavy. Just as he was about to shut his laptop, a little bold “1” appeared next to his “inbox” tab that had previously read 0. He felt his stomach flutter slightly with excitement and he opened the tab, telling himself it was probably just another automated alumni email from his University. When we realized it was a reply from Thorin, he quickly clicked on the bolded message to open it. He hadn’t expected to hear back from him so soon, or perhaps at all in reply to this particular email.

The missive was short and succinct, which Bilbo now understood was just how Thorin communicated after speaking to him in person. 

“Dear Mr. Baggins,

Thank you for coming in to speak with me and meet Fíli and Kíli. Dís sends her apologies, she has been away the last few days on a business trip. You will get a chance to meet her soon.

Fíli is greatly enjoying the book you lent him, and is looking forward to showing you his book on Ereborian history.

We look forward to working with you.

Sincerely,

Thorin”

Bilbo smiled at the mention of Fíli. He was slightly disappointed that there wasn’t a more personal tone to the email, but wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting. Still, Thorin had taken the time to reply, and even said “thank you.”

Bilbo smiled sleepily into his hand and shut the laptop, heading for bed. He slept soundly that night, his dreams filled with towering, forested mountains against a crisp blue sky, crumbling stone ruins, and stormy blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They interacted!
> 
> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed so my story can get a little more traffic <3 <3 <3


	4. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo pays a visit to his cousin Drogo, and then does some apartment hunting. A few family secrets about the Durins are revealed.

Bilbo wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous as he approached the large, industrial-looking apartment building that Drogo and his wife lived in. He hadn’t seen in cousin in a few years, but that wasn’t so out of the ordinary. And Bilbo had just spoken to him and Drogo had seemed surprised but delighted that Bilbo was coming to visit.

 _I’ll make sure to spend more time with them when I can after this, or at least give them a call more often,_ Bilbo thought guiltily, juggling several containers of food he had brought with him.

When he was finally able to get one hand free, he pressed the com on the door for Drogo and Primula’s apartment, was greeted with a friendly “one minute,” and the door buzzed loudly as the lock clicked open. By the time Bilbo made it to the fourth floor where the couple lived, he felt embarrassed at how winded he had become. Before he could attempt to free a hand once more to knock on the door, it swung open to reveal Primula, much smaller than the last time he had seen her, and a bit more worn down with dark circles under her eyes and a few strands of gray in her dark, curly hair. Her eyes were shining bright, though, cheeks slightly flushed, and her natural beauty shone through in her happiness as she beamed at Bilbo.

“Bilbo! It’s so wonderful to see you! Oh, you didn’t have to bring so much food, oh my goodness, thank you so much! Here, let me help you with those!” she tittered in her sing-song voice, taking several of the containers from Bilbo before he could even begin to object.

He couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face; he could feel the nervous energy from before melting away already.

“Is that Bilbo?” he heard a familiar voice call from farther inside the apartment as he followed Primula across the threshold.

His cousin appeared from the slightly shadowed space under the loft portion of the apartment, grinning. The apartment wasn’t very large, technically, but the open layout with the kitchen separated from the rest of the apartment with a long, granite island made it look much bigger than it actually was. Bilbo glanced around with wonder at the space, so different from both his mum’s house and the apartments he had lived in before. The floors were bare concrete, but had been covered in an assortment of area rugs with mix-matched designs, a black and white geometric pattern here, a Persian-inspired intricately woven one there. Most of the furniture – tables, chairs, TV stand, and side tables – were made of the same light colored, unfinished-looking wood and Bilbo wondered if the couple had constructed them themselves. Canvases ranging from a half a meter to nearly two meters tall were stacked up against walls around the space, with both finished and nearly started paintings. Bilbo admired Primula’s work – abstract bursts of color bleeding into one another behind meticulously painted lines of dark blue or earthy reds and browns, swirling into vine-like patterns in some paintings, and in others vaguely resembling the delicate lines of topographic maps.

He was broken from his reverie when Drogo grasped him by his shoulders, smiling widely before pulling him into a tight hug, and sneaking the last bag of food out of his grasp.

“How are you, cousin? It’s good to see your face again. Sorry for the climb, the joy of apartment living,” Drogo laughed.

His cousin also looked a bit older and more tired than the last time he had seen him, but not too bad, all things considered. He had grown a bit of a beard (Bilbo was a tad jealous, most of the Baggins, Bilbo included, were incapable of growing more than an embarrassingly patchy ginger wisp of hair on their chins) and he had a few more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. His T-shirt had a mysterious green stain near the shoulder and he held a few crayons in his hand.

Bilbo smiled at his cousin as the latter walked over to place the food on the kitchen island.

“I’m…doing well. A lot better, actually. Well, you know a bit of it,” Bilbo began, sitting on minimalist, mustard-yellow couch in the middle of the apartment. “Prim, I don’t know if Drogo updated you but it seems I have an interesting new job prospect.”

“Oh, I heard!” she said as she shuffled to the kitchen to kiss Drogo on the cheek and fill the electric kettle with water. “Tea? It’s in London, right? That’s very exciting!”

Bilbo nodded in response to both questions. “Yeah, it’s for a posh foreign family, they’ve moved from a country called Erebor. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit I hadn’t really heard of it before now.”

“I haven’t either, what’s it like?”

Bilbo filled his cousin’s wife in on some of the details that he’d learned so far about the country’s geography, politics, and history. He briefly mentioned the excavation project in progress that Thorin had helped to sponsor, and his hopes to perhaps get involved with dig, though that was far off in the future. Primula seemed genuinely curious, and then delighted at the prospect of Bilbo getting back into excavating. She set a steaming cup of tea down in front of him with a chipped ceramic saucer of cream and a dish of sugar.

“Oh Bilbo, this all sounds so wonderful, I’m so happy for you! We’d been so worried, after everything that happened,” she paused, biting her lip as her gaze flitted over to Drogo, who smiled sympathetically. “Well...we were just worried that you weren’t as happy as you used to be. And you always found so much love and enjoyment in archaeology.”

Bilbo nodded, feeling a little sad at the memory of unenrolling from the university…and a tad guilty as well, that Drogo and Primula had been thinking about him so much while he wallowed and pushed away the outside world.

“I do. But I do really enjoy teaching, too, especially the sort of tutoring that involves more one-on-one interaction with students. And the two boys are both so bright and curious, I think I’m going to have an easy time getting along and working with them…oh, hey, speaking of boys, where is Frodo? I haven’t gotten a chance to pinch those rosy cheeks yet!”

Drogo laughed, heading back to the darker space beneath the loft and beckoning Bilbo to follow. Bilbo did so, and a play-pen came into view, situated behind a wooden bookshelf. The floor was covered in a massive light blue, fuzzy carpet, and there were blankets, toys, coloring books, and various bits of tiny-sized clothing laying around. The walls were strung with twinkling lights encased in origami stars crafted from thick white paper. In the playpen sat a toddler in red footie pajamas, with a mop of curly dark hair like his mother and bright, sky-blue eyes like his father. He had an upturned little button nose and rosy cheeks, and was just about the cutest kid Bilbo had seen in recent memory.

“Well, hello there little one!” he cooed, immediately sitting cross legged in front of the pen to get a good look at Frodo through the mesh.

The child continued to suck on his pacifier, though his eyes widened somewhat and he crawled forward to sit a little closer, appraising Bilbo with those large blue eyes.

“He’s so brave!” Bilbo remarked, smiling softly at the child.

“He’s a curious one, that’s for sure!” Drogo replied, chuckling. “We’ve been blessed so far, he’s not much of a fusser. He really likes to watch people talk, walk around, cook, whatever. He’s so curious about everything.”

Drogo lifted Frodo from his playpen and the baby squirmed in his arms, kicking out a chubby little fist and leg uselessly, to Bilbo’s delight.

“I’m going to give him his dinner before we eat - he likes to eat before we do or he’ll occasionally throw a fit. Or throw up,” Drogo sighed, gesturing to the mysterious stains on his shirt. “And then I’ll put him in his chair so he can silently observe us for an hour or two, the little creeper.”

Bilbo laughed, feeling comfortable and at home for the first time in a long time.

~

As Drogo had predicted, Frodo sat happily in his bouncy chair, wide blue eyes darting back and forth at the dining adults with silent fascination for the entirety of the meal.

And a delicious meal it was. Bilbo truly loved cooking and baking, and hadn’t gotten a chance to make something really extravagant for quite some time – partially because he really enjoyed cooking for others more than for himself. He had found this dinner an excellent excuse to go all out.

Bilbo had prepared a wild rice and vegetable dish, long-grained black and brown rice simmered in a buttery sauce of white wine, Dijon mustard, apple cider, and fresh thyme with roasted butternut squash, apples, cranberries, onions, and crisp kale. He’d also brought some roasted brussel sprouts swimming in a balsamic-honey glaze, crispy and tender with a rich, tart flavor. In the morning he’d decided to bake a loaf of bread to go with dinner, fresh sprigs of rosemary from the window box at his mother’s house infused into the fluffy dough. Finally, he’d whipped together a lemon-butter spread for the bread with finely minced garlic and fresh lemon zest. 

Drogo had insisted that Bilbo not break his back cooking all day and at least let him take care of the main course, and Bilbo had acquiesced somewhat but had arguably gone a bit overboard on the sides.

Drogo and Primula thanked him profusely and chided him lightly for working so hard on their behalf. They praised his cooking skills until he was red in the cheeks, and he repaid their compliments in full regarding the main dish Drogo had created. Though perhaps not as elaborate as the food Bilbo had brought, it was simple and delicious: A large, white fish slow-cooked with big hunks of garlic, slices of lemon, ground black pepper and fresh dill. Drogo had finely minced some little bright red chile peppers and sprinkled them around the fish before roasting it in the oven, and the flavor was incredible. Each bite of the tender meat flaked perfectly in Bilbo’s mouth and he sighed in appreciation. It had been so long since he had shared a wonderful, full meal like this with others. He realized that he wasn’t even sure of the last time.

They were nearly done with the meal when the subject of Bilbo’s potential new employment came up again, and he drew up the courage to talk about what he had intended to ask the young couple.

“Yes, well, I don’t have a lot in the way of possessions, so moving them from my mother’s house shouldn’t be too difficult. And as I said, the apartment will be paid for so it’s just a matter of locating a good one...my main concern, at this moment, is finding someone I trust to take care of my mother’s house.”

He didn’t look up for the moment, pushing the tines of his fork into a lemon slice and watching the juice ooze onto the plate.

“And that’s...well, that was one of the reasons that I wanted to visit you two, though of course it was lovely to see you for any reason at all. I...well, I would of course never want to assume anything or...erm, I know I’ve been gone for quite some time but - I just thought, well, with little Frodo and some of the...difficulties you’d been having, Prim, with finding work...well I thought that maybe I should give you two first pick of the house, should you...want it.”

Bilbo finally looked up, a bit nervous that he might have offended his hosts.

Drogo and Primula exchanged a wordless glance, both looking a bit confused, before Primula spoke, gently.

“Bilbo are you...offering us your mother’s house? That’s incredibly kind of you, but how could we ever accept? We couldn’t possibly, a gift so large-”

“You could consider it a loan if you’d like!” Bilbo interjected, trying not to sound too desperate. “The house is all paid off, and I would really like someone staying there that would take care of it, and understand its worth, not go sell all of my mother’s old things...You two were so kind and helpful when...when mum passed. Many of my other relatives have made it abundantly clear that they think I don’t deserve the house. When word gets out that I’m moving to London again I know they’ll descend like vultures. So...I’m not just offering the house to you because I know you’ll take care of it, but I think that it could...really help you. And you would appreciate it, more than anyone else. You could just...keep one of the bedrooms as a guest bedroom for...when and if I come back. Holidays, and such. But otherwise, it would effectively be yours.”

Bilbo paused when, to his horror, Primula’s eyes began to water as her face scrunched up.

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Before Bilbo could finish his sentence, Primula had risen from her seat at the table and rushed over to him. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly, choking out a sob...or was it a laugh? She pulled back and looked at him with a watery smile.

“Bilbo...this is a such a generous gift…” she looked back at Drogo who was smiling, and looked hopeful but nervous, his gaze shifting back and forth between Bilbo and his wife. “We’ve...been having a bit more financial trouble than Drogo let on. We weren’t sure how we were going to keep paying the rent on this place...had been talking about moving back in with Drogo’s parents come Christmas time...I just can’t believe it, it’s a godsend, you coming here and offering us the house. You absolute angel.”

She kissed Bilbo on the forehead, a light peck, and Bilbo smiled up at her, feeling warm.

“Oh, please. I’m...I’m not an angel. Having the two of you look after my mum’s house would be a dream come true.”

“Bilbo,” Drogo began, having scooted his chair closer to loop an arm around Primula, “It really does feel like a godsend. I don’t think we could possibly ever thank you enough for this. Of course we’ll look after the house, and love it dearly. How can we ever repay you for this?”

Bilbo flipped a hand, dismissing his cousin’s plea. “You don’t need to. You already have. Will. By living in and loving that house the way my mum would want.”

Bilbo looked at the two beaming faces, eyes bright with gratitude, and knew for certain that he was making the right decision.

~

Bilbo felt almost giddy with excitement when he arrived home late that evening. He hadn’t expected things to go as well as they did, and now he realized that all that was left was to find a new apartment and pack up his things. 

_Oh, and sign that contract, right._

That would truly make things final. He found that there was a bit of nervous excitement fluttering around in his belly, but the usual anxiety that plagued him over every small decision was curiously absent, at least for the moment. 

He settled down with a glass of dry red wine at the kitchen table and reviewed the contract briefly. He hadn’t taken much time to look at the living stipend portion of the document, so distracted was he by the exorbitant pay. The stipend was quite generous itself, too - Bilbo would be able to afford an apartment nearly three times more expensive than the sad little flat he’d been paying for as a Master’s student. Of course, that wasn’t saying much considering the price of renting in London, but he wouldn’t turn his nose up at free housing.

He signed the contract with his favorite black pen and headed to his mother’s bedroom with its ancient printer and photocopy set-up to scan the document. Twenty five frustrating minutes later, Bilbo had the digital scan sent to himself and headed to the living room to collapse on the couch. He was composing the email to Thorin with the attachment when he glanced at the clock, reading 11:45 PM and hesitated for a moment. He wondered if he should wait until the next day to send it, but then decided he was too excited to wait. Surely Thorin was already becoming used to emails from Bilbo past 10 PM. His fingers flew over the keys as he composed the message:

“Dear Mr. Durin,

I am pleased to inform you that I have chosen to accept your offer as tutor for Fíli and Kíli, and that I have subsequently found arrangements for my mother’s home. Please see the attached signed contract.

I was hoping that you might be able to put me in touch with the real estate agent that you mentioned so that I can start looking for a place to live. Additionally, could you please inform me of my official starting date? I want to make sure to plan and pack accordingly.

Also, if your offer still stands, I would very much enjoy stopping by the house while apartment-searching to say hi and get to know the boys a little better.

All the best,

Bilbo”

Bilbo fretted over the last paragraph for a minute, rephrasing it several times until he finally gave up and changed it back to its original wording. Thorin had made the offer originally, there was nothing informal or forward about Bilbo bringing it up again. Bilbo clicked send and closed his laptop decisively with a light click, reaching for his wine.

Sometime after Bilbo lay slouched into the cushions, sipping wine and reading articles on his phone, he passed out on the couch. He awoke at about 6:45 to the light blue morning light peering through the front windows and rolled over, groaning. He was unlikely to get back to sleep now that the sun was up, so he slowly rose from the couch, blinking hazily and heading for the kitchen to make some coffee.

About an hour later he had showered and given his teeth a much needed brushing, and had filled up on coffee, eggs, and toast. The sun, in a rare turn of events, was shining fully through the kitchen windows, casting sparkling reflections of the glass on the linoleum floor. Bilbo sighed contentedly as he opened his laptop, planning on doing some initial apartment hunting. He was surprised to see that Thorin had already replied to the email he’d sent late last night.

He clicked on the reply, secretly feeling pleased that Thorin had responded so quickly, though he was sure it didn’t mean anything about him personally; Thorin seemed the organized type. The email was brief, as usual, and relatively formal. Thorin thanked Bilbo for sending the contract and included the name, email and phone number of the realtor he had mentioned. He also informed Bilbo that Dis would be back from her trip the following Saturday, so if Bilbo _was_ able to come to London and look at apartments that day, it would be a great opportunity for the two to meet. Bilbo was a bit nervous at the prospect of meeting the boys’ mother, but he thought it was reasonable that Dis would want to meet the man tutoring her sons before he started.

He hoped that she wasn’t as... _intense_ as Thorin, if only because that would be just a bit overwhelming in duplicate.

Bilbo’s eyes paused their perusal of the email at the last line before Thorin’s signature; he had written that in case Bilbo needed to get in touch with him, he could reach him at his cellphone number via text or phonecall. It made sense; Bilbo was essentially nanny to the boys and Thorin was his employer, he likely would’ve gotten the man’s number at some point in the near future. Still, Bilbo couldn’t help the warm feeling of satisfaction and the twinge of anticipation in his stomach as he slowly entered the contact information into his phone. 

It had been quite some time since he’d gotten the number of such an attractive man, and the last time it had ended in tears. Bilbo scoffed at himself. 

_Don’t even start with all that. He’s your employer, nothing more. Your employer that seems to intentionally wear pants too tight for his fantastic arse-_

Bilbo slammed his laptop shut, cheeks burning slightly. That was enough of that.

Later that afternoon he reached out to the realtor and received a prompt reply. The woman, whose name was Tonya, asked him to send her a few details about preferences and said she would endeavor to set up some tours for that Saturday. He spent a long time going over the list of requirements for his new apartment - and why not, he finally had the money to be a little picky - and tried to picture the type of space he would like to live in. About an hour later he replied to Tonya’s email with a short list of requirements including price and location, as well as other details like “larger kitchen, more counter space,” “a bathtub,” “at least a few south facing windows” so that he could go back to keeping house plants without them withering away, and “ideally no wall to wall carpeting on every floor.” Bilbo felt a little bad asking for all of these specifications, but he reminded himself that living in relative comfort was important, and since someone was essentially paying him to live in London, he might as well take advantage of it. 

After he had sent the email Bilbo stretched out his stiff legs at the kitchen table and leaned back in the chair. The sun had receded behind the clouds and the light in the kitchen had diminished. The temperature had also dropped significantly. 

Noticing his icy toes, Bilbo sighed and shuffled out of the kitchen to go light a fire in his mother’s fireplace. It wasn’t his first fire of the season - Bilbo ran a little cold most of the time - but he hadn’t lit it very frequently since last spring. Later on, as he sat watching the flames, he began to let his mind wander at what his new apartment might look like.

He pictured large bay windows enclosing a cozy nook with a kitchen table and chairs, with hanging plants cascading down from above. He thought about how he might buy a few pieces from Primula once he had the money and hang the colorful paintings on his walls. He pictured where the beloved pothos he had grown from a cutting of his mother’s might go. Perhaps in the bedroom, where he could feel closest to it when he was at his most vulnerable.

He couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his face as he imagined living in a new place. He had initially felt guilty at leaving his mother’s house, but was comforted by the idea of Drogo and Primula moving in and taking care of it. He knew that they would love it, and it would be a wonderful place for little Frodo to grow up. 

He could feel excitement bubbling up inside of him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He had told himself that he was content to just keep on going, keep on living. But now that there was a potential adventure in front of him, he could not possibly look back.

~

Just one week after his interview with Thorin, Bilbo found himself on the road to London once again, the sun just barely rising from the low, grey clouds on the horizon as he set out. He had five apartments set up to tour today, under the guidance of Tonya. He also had a lunch meeting with the Durins at one, where he would finally get a chance to meet Dís. For this reason he had fretted over his outfit just as long as the previous visit, but had wisely chosen to do so the night before so that he could get changed and go early in the morning. 

The drive seemed to go a lot faster this time, for whatever reason. The weather wasn’t nearly as awful as it had been before; there was another bit of early morning sun peaking through the clouds when Bilbo turned onto the street of the townhouse. He had made sure to reread the parking directions thoroughly before leaving this time and realized that they were actually directing him to a squat parking garage about a block away that had a few empty spots reserved for the Durins. Bilbo felt like kicking himself for not having parked there last time, it might’ve saved him quite a bit of trouble (and kept Thorin from thinking he was the type of person who showed up late to interviews).

After he had parked he walked the few blocks to the first apartment where he was to meet the real estate agent, Tonya. She was already waiting outside the apartment complex, a stone-facade building with white trimmed windows. She was on the shorter side and her round face was framed with a short brown bob and thick-rimmed glasses. She greeted Bilbo with a friendly smile.

“Mr. Baggins? It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she extended a hand, which Bilbo shook, smiling back at her. “Shall we go in?”

Bilbo nodded enthusiastically; he was almost jittery with excitement to see the first place. He exchanged a few pleasantries with her as they climbed the stairs.

“So, first time living in London?” she asked, her voice bouncing off the walls of the echo-y stairwell.

“No, I lived here a few years back. On a bigger budget now, though,” he replied.

She laughed, coming to a stop on the third stair landing. “Yes, that does change the experience quite a bit, doesn’t it?”

She paused to push the heavy door to the hallway open and smiled at Bilbo.

“Well, I think you’re really going to like some of the places we’re looking at today. Come on.”

~

By the time they were finished looking at the fourth apartment, Bilbo’s stomach was growling insistently, and although it was barely a quarter past noon and his lunch meeting wasn’t until one, he needed a break. 

He apologized to Tonya, explaining how the long drive had worn him out, and asked if they could meet back up at the last property after he’d lunched with the Durins. She graciously told him it was no problem at all, and left Bilbo to wander back to the townhouse.

He was over half an hour early, though, and wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t familiar with this neighborhood and hadn’t seen many cafes or restaurants nearby, and he didn’t want to venture too far away and be late for his meeting again (lest he give Thorin more fodder to chastise him). 

Finally, after standing in the same spot on the sidewalk with a worried expression for about a minute and a half, he decided to send a quick text to Thorin. It wasn’t a weird thing to do - Thorin wouldn’t have given Bilbo his number in an email if he didn’t want Bilbo to text him with pressing matters. Bilbo didn’t want to interrupt anything going on by showing up unannounced, either.

He bit his lip as he agonized over how to compose his message, even as his feet started carrying him down the street towards the crossing where he would turn to reach the townhouse. He eventually typed out a concise message.

“Hello Mr. Durin, this is Bilbo. Finished with first half of apartment tour early, was wondering if I could stop by a bit early. Let me know if this is alright with you, if not see you at 1.”

He pressed send and promptly locked his phone screen, fingers twitching anxiously against the buttons. He immediately began to doubt his decision to text Thorin. Was it too informal? Should he have called? Maybe he should have just found a good place to wait for the next half hour. But he was tired, and hungry, and he didn’t know this neighborhood at all. And besides, where was he to wait, a stoop somewhere? Besides getting chased off of the property by the well-to-do in these buildings, he had worn nice clothes and didn’t want to get them dirty. He didn’t feel like he could wear his cream sweater again, as much of a comfort as it was, so he had decided instead on an off-white button up and grey trousers that fit him well. Neither article of clothing would be well suited for sitting on a cement stoop. He had also decided on wearing his glasses today instead of contact lenses, a sturdy but elegant pair with dark brown frames and round lenses. He had wanted to look scholarly to meet Dís and he liked the way he looked in his glasses, although they were generally a pain in the arse to wear all of the time. He may have secretly wanted to look nice for other reasons as well…

Just as he was beginning his downward spiral into internal anguish, Bilbo’s phone buzzed in his hand and he nearly dropped it onto the sidewalk. He scrambled to unlock it and read the message from Thorin, a frustratingly short reply:

“Np. Come on over.”

Bilbo snorted, scrubbing a hand through his hair and trying to calm down. Of course, he should have expected Thorin to be even more short-form in text messages. He had responded pretty quickly, too - within ten minutes of Bilbo having sent the message - so it seemed that Bilbo had been worried for no reason, as usual. Having now received confirmation that his early arrival wouldn’t be an imposition (or at least, he hoped) Bilbo sped up his pace and reached the townhouse in just 5 minutes or so. He quickly combed his fingers through his curly hair and tried to push it into some semblance of neatness before knocking on the heavy wooden door.

It was a few moments before anything happened, and then Bilbo heard the faint sounds of a high-pitched voice and some scrambling before the door was swung open by Thorin himself.

Bilbo started, for some reason not having expected to see Thorin so immediately. He had also not at all expected to see him in a soft black henley shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of blue jeans, and socks. Bilbo’s mouth went dry and he struggled with words for a moment. Thorin looked at him expectantly, crooking an eyebrow.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked in his low tenor, with a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Er, yes, of course. Thanks.” Bilbo muttered, feeling his cheeks go a little pink as he stepped past Thorin over the threshold. “And thanks for letting me show up a little early, I’m not really familiar with the area and didn’t want to venture too far away to wait…”

“So you wouldn’t be late again?” Thorin asked, with no malice in his tone.

Bilbo scowled at him, but the other had a hint of a smile on his lips. Bilbo realized that had been Thorin’s attempt at a _joke_ and bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a goofy grin. He felt heat creeping up his neck under the scrutiny of Thorin’s gaze and was just about to formulate a retort when a blur of brown hair came zooming into the room, knocking Thorin to the side slightly in it’s haste. All of the sudden Kíli was in front of Bilbo, a wide toothless grin spread across his face. 

“Bilbo! You’re here! Come look at my legos!” Kíli beamed up at him, then his gaze flitted over to Thorin, who was looking a bit cowed at having been bowled over. “...please?” he added, remembering his manners.

“Kíli, what have I said about running in the house?” Thorin chided, though there wasn’t much anger in his tone. He placed a large hand on Kíli’s little shoulder. “It’s dangerous, someone might get hurt. And Mr. Baggins will come see your legos in a bit, we’re going to have lunch soon, remember?”

Kili looked a bit put out at that but nodded solemnly, sighing.

“I think we’re going to have to eat some vegetables…” he murmured grimly to Bilbo.

The latter chuckled, glancing up at Thorin who was looking at the boy softly. Thorin turned his gaze to Bilbo.

“Dís is here, she arrived late last night. The boys refused to go to bed for hours once she was home, as they usually do. She was looking forward to meeting you, I’ll go get her. Kíli, why don’t you escort Mr. Baggins to the drawing room,” he began as he ascended the staircase.

“Please, Bilbo is fine, really,” Bilbo called after him, feeling a bit sheepish afterwards as Thorin turned in surprise. 

Thorin raised his eyebrows slightly and then nodded, grunting in acknowledgement before quickly turning and continuing his ascent. Once the other’s back was turned, Bilbo briefly squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment before schooling his expression and following Kíli into the other room.

~

Bilbo had barely settled in on the plush couch where he had given his interview when he heard two sets of feet descending the main staircase down the hall. A few moments later a tall, dark-haired woman with steely grey eyes walked into the room, trailed by Thorin. She wore a satiny dark blue blouse with billowing sleeves and sleek black leggings tucked into knee-high black suede boots. Her hair was straighter than Thorin’s, and longer, but the same deep, inky black-brown. She was making a beeline for Bilbo, eyes fixed on his and the beginnings of what looked like a wicked smile on her face. Bilbo swallowed.

“Mr. Baggins!” she exclaimed, thrusting out a hand for him to shake. “So you’re the one who ‘schooled’ my brother on chemistry, as Fíli puts it!”

Bilbo, dazed, took her hand and was treated to a warm, firm handshake that nearly pulled him from his seat. She plopped down next to him, and offered him a bright smile. Bilbo’s eyes darted to Thorin, who was now scowling deeply, an unintentional and yet highly amusing visual contrast between the two siblings.

“I asked you not to use that word,” Thorin grumbled, arms crossed, and yes, Bilbo could immediately recognize the big sister, little brother dynamic here. This made a lot of sense.

“I just can’t think of a better one, dear brother,” she turned back to Bilbo and offered him a wink. “It’s alright. You’ve already earned a few points in my book for having put my brooding brother in his place.”

Bilbo’s shocked expression broke into a smile which he promptly hid behind his hand when he noticed Thorin glaring at Dís. He couldn’t believe how different the two were - practically like night and day. Bilbo had never had a sibling himself; always a bit of a lonely child, he had imagined that if he had a sister or a brother they would have done everything the same, and been each others’ best friends. He decided that it wasn’t a bad thing, though; Dís was certainly a lot friendlier than her brother and her mere presence seemed to mellow Thorin’s mood a bit - at least when he wasn’t actively being made fun of.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Ms. Durin. I’ve been looking forward to it,” Bilbo said finally, directing the conversation away from Thorin.

“Please, Dís! I’m only Ms. Durin at work. So, Thorin’s filled me in a bit, but tell me about yourself? What do you like to do? Oh, damn! I didn’t offer you anything to drink. Tea?”

Bilbo saw where Kíli’s loquacious qualities came from. He chuckled, smiling warmly at Dís’ earnest expression. 

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” 

Dís returned a few minutes later with tea and biscuits, which Bilbo nibbled on slowly, despite the twisting hunger in his gut. It would not do to make himself sick on sweet treats. Dís, in the meantime, interrogated him on his work, his studies, and how he liked London. She was only interrupted when Bilbo’s stomach erupted with a loud growl. Bilbo blushed and apologized, deeply embarrassed.

“You must be starving! You shouldn’t have let me talk so long. Poor dear. Let’s get you some food!”

~

By the time they all sat down for lunch, Kíli squirming in the elegant high back chair and Fíli looking relatively bored, Bilbo was starving. He hoped that his subsequent stomach rumbles had gone unnoticed, but he likely wasn’t that lucky.

Dís was not yet at the table, evidently still in the kitchen speaking with the cook. Thorin sat across from Bilbo, watching Kíli closely and calling his name in a warning tone when the fidgeting 8-year old began to stick an index finger in his nose.

Bilbo cleared his throat, deciding he would have another go at conversing with Thorin.

“So...Mr. Durin, you’re an architect? That sounds like a very interesting profession. I was curious as to whether or not you’d done any work on this house.”

“Yes, I have, actually,” he answered in quiet rumble, looking a little surprised. “But perhaps not what you’d think. When we first bought the townhouse, I did redo part of the drawing room to open it up, and installed the french double doors. But my main alterations were more cosmetic, furniture and such.”

Thorin paused, looking down at his hands.

“I um. Made a new front door for the house. I...dabble in carpentry.”

Bilbo laughed, and the reaction seemed to surprise Thorin, who then looked a touch offended.

“Oh, no! I don’t mean insult...it’s just that - wow! I would call that more than ‘dabbling’! That door is absolutely gorgeous, I was admiring the wood inlay the first time I came it’s...well it’s just beautiful craftsmanship. I’m very impressed that you made it.”

Thorin looked genuinely embarrassed and Bilbo felt bad that he somewhat delighted in it. Thorin looked down, his mouth a flat line, and Bilbo could see that the tips of his ears were just a bit red.

“Oh. Uh yes, thank you - very much. I appreciate that,” he choked out, and Bilbo pressed his lips together in an attempt not to smile, but evidently wasn’t entirely successful. 

Something wicked awoke in Bilbo at Thorin’s stuttered cadence and pink ears, the same something that he felt after righteously correcting the man on his perception of Bilbo’s scientific abilities. There was just something delightfully satisfying about causing such a stern and brooding figure to lose his composure, if only for a minute. Before Bilbo’s mind could wander any further down _that_ avenue of thought, he took mercy on Thorin and moved the conversation forward.

“So, why an acorn?”

“Hm - what?”

“On the front door - that beautiful inlaid motif? I believe there were some oak leaves, too?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

“It’s our family symbol!” Fíli interjected, somewhat surprising the two adults that had unconsciously leaned a bit closer to each other across the table as they spoke, and had evidently forgotten about the other two occupants of the room.

“Fíli..” Thorin began, but the other pressed on haughtily.

“Uncle Thorin doesn’t like to talk to people not from Erebor about our family. But it’s just a symbol. It’s our...coat of arms?”

Bilbo nodded, ushering the other to go on and ignoring Thorin’s glare.

“It’s a symbol that stands for our family. A shield made out of oak wood with an acorn and oak leaves.”

“Fíli, I know you like to share Ereborian history but-”

“Uncle, Bilbo’s not an outsider, he’s going to be our nanny,” Fíli interrupted, rolling his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with telling him about it.”

Just then, Dís entered the room, looking a tad winded but vibrant as before. She looked back and forth between the occupants of the table and narrowed her eyes.

“I hope no bickering is going on in front of our guest!” she said in a sing-song voice, but there was a sharp undertone. “There will be plenty of time for Bilbo to experience that once he starts working here regularly!”

Bilbo smiled nervously, glancing over at Thorin who looked cowed for the moment, but was wearing his signature scowl.

“Oh, and lunch is ready!”

Moments later, a rather rotund and jovial looking man with a full beard and head of frizzy, bright red hair entered the room, carrying a heavy wooden tray laden with food. He placed the tray down in the center of the table with a smile and proceeded to ruffle Kíli’s hair with force as the little one reached for the tray. 

“You boys behaving yourselves? Or are you being rotten?” the man roared in a booming and jubilant voice that nearly caused Bilbo to jump in his seat.

Kíli grimaced and then laughed, struggling for a moment to remove the large hand and then biting it in retaliation. The large man just belly-laughed, easily pulling his hand away.

“Being bad then!” he turned to Bilbo, a large smile splitting his face. “You must be Mister Baggins! Bombur at your service.”

“Oh, hello! Yes, and Bilbo is fine! A pleasure to meet you,” Bilbo took the proffered hand and felt himself jiggled a bit violently by the firm and energetic handshake.

Bombur went back to his tray, beginning to lay the plates out on the table with more grace and care than he would have expected from the portly man that had nearly shaken his arm off. The man placed bowls of steaming soup as well as a small plate in front of everyone. Finally he placed a large salad bowl and a cloth-wrapped loaf of bread on the table before lifting the tray, nodding politely and exiting the room.

The soup turned out to be a scrumptious buttery broth with leeks, potatoes, carrots, and wild mushrooms, with aromatic touches of fresh sage, thyme, and black pepper. It was served with a freshly baked loaf of bread, perfectly golden and crusty, and a refreshing salad of arugula, walnuts, crumbly cheese and sunflower seeds doused in lemon vinaigrette. Bilbo was positively ravenous by the time the food was set in front of him, and tried his best to remember his table manners and not simply devour everything immediately.

“This is all amazing. Your chef is quite talented,” Bilbo said between spoonfuls of soup.

“We’re quite lucky to have him. Bombur doesn’t work full-time here, just on the weekends mostly. He probably wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for the kids, he adores them.”

Dís smiled at Fíli and Kíli, who were evidently playing some sort of game and giggling at each other, unaware. 

“Bombur came with us when we left Erebor,” she said evenly, though something darker stirred in her eyes. Thorin was silent and his gaze was fixed directly on her. “He’s been enjoying life in the UK quite a bit. Lots of cooking to be done!”

Dís brightened, skillfully changing the subject.

“So everything worked out with your house? Hopefully you didn’t have to sell it, that’s such a hassle…”

Bilbo smiled, curious about the cook but willing to accept the change in conversation.

“Oh yes, it worked out perfectly. My dear cousin and his wife have a young baby, and they really needed a more suitable place to raise him. They’re looking after the house for me, and I’ll be able to come back and visit whenever. They’re lovely people, and I trust them to take care of my mum’s place.”

“Oh, you were taking care of your mother’s place for her! How lovely. Will it be difficult living so far from her?” There was nothing but warmth and kindness in Dís’ expression, but Bilbo felt his stomach twist in a knot as he slowly placed his spoon down on the table.

“Er...she...passed away a few years back, actually. I inherited the house from her and have been living in it since,” he said quietly, as four pairs of eyes turned their attention to him. He tried not to squirm.

Dís immediately looked regretful and with a pained expression said, “Oh Bilbo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, it must be so terrible. Losing a parent is so incredibly difficult. I’m sorry you went through that pain.”

Bilbo nodded stiffly, forcing a small smile and fighting back the tears that threatened to prick at his eyes from Dís’ show of kindness.

“It’s...it’s alright, thank you. It was a few years ago. Right after I finished my Masters, actually. I was supposed to stay on and finish my PhD but…” Bilbo shrugged helplessly, plucking nervously at the tablecloth. “Well. Things happen.”

Bilbo didn’t hear Kíli get up from his chair, but turned when he saw the 8 year old approach his side of the table and was surprised when he wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s seated torso and squeezed. 

“I’m sorry you lost your mum, Bilbo. My da died when I was 4,” came a muffled and watery voice, buried in Bilbo’s shirt.

Bilbo felt his heart give a painful twist and fought hard to hold back tears at the incredibly sweet gesture, and at the knowledge that this sweet child had lost his father at such a young age. He glanced over at Fíli and saw the older sibling sitting silently, staring down at his food with a stony expression. He reached up, slowly, to wrap an arm around Kíli’s little shoulders and ruffled his hair gently. 

“I’m so sorry you lost your father, Kíli. And thank you. I miss my mum very much, and it made me very sad but I’m getting better now. Your hug is helping,” he said softly, and the child raised his eyes with a sniffle and small smile.

Bilbo felt overwhelmed with emotion and suddenly a little uncomfortable - not at Kili’s loving hug, but at all the attention and sympathy being directed at him - he had never been able to stand being the center of attention. He tried to focus on his breathing and calm himself, remind himself that the moment would pass and that he didn’t need to run from the room, lock himself in the bathroom and cry, even though that was what he _wanted_ to do.

As he glanced around, trying to collect himself, his eyes met Thorin’s. His expression was as inscrutable as usual, but his oft-mercurial eyes were soft. He wasn’t looking at Bilbo with pity, but rather with an understanding so clear that Bilbo wondered if the other could read his thoughts. Thorin held his gaze for a moment longer, and then cleared his throat, looking down.

“Kíli, why don’t you go sit down and finish your soup, I’m sure Bilbo wants to finish his lunch too.”

Bilbo gave him a half smile in thanks, still feeling shaky, and Thorin nodded slightly, looking away a tad sheepishly before continuing.

“So, how has the apartment search gone today? Did you find a suitable place?” 

“Oh, yes, well. They were all very nice, I suppose. I actually have one more left to look at, after we’re done with lunch.”

Truthfully, all of the apartments Bilbo had looked at that day were fine, he wouldn’t mind living in any of them. None of them had truly stood out to him, though. He felt selfish for admitting it, but he was hoping for a bit better with the generous budget he had been granted. He supposed he should be thankful for the ability to live in any of them for free, and just accept the lack of counter space here or small windows there.

Upon hearing that Bilbo had one tour left, Fíli perked up and spoke for only the second or third time that meal.

“Can I come? On your last tour?”

“Ooh me too! Can I come Bilbo? Can we both come? I wanna see!” Kíli piped up after his brother, tears forgotten with a joyful expression on his face.

“Ah, well-” Bilbo’s eyes darted to Dís, and then Thorin; the former looked amused and surprised while the latter just looked bewildered. “I...think you’d have to ask your mother and uncle, boys.”

Without a beat, the two pleading faces turned on Dís and Thorin, and Bilbo almost wanted to laugh at the silliness of the situation. Instead, he waited for the eldest Durins’ reactions. Thorin simply looked to Dís with the same bewildered expression on his face. Dís pursed her lips, looking upwards as she seemed to consider the request, and then her gaze landed on Bilbo.

“Well, that all depends on whether or not it’s alright with Bilbo. He didn’t plan on having to look after you two today,” she said.

Bilbo considered for a moment. He hadn’t actually had much of an opportunity to look after the boys on his own yet. They might end up acting out a bit on the tour, but it would probably be short, and nothing that he couldn’t handle.

“I think that would be fine, as long as it’s alright with you Ms. Durin...Dís. The boys are welcome to come with me.”

“I could come along as well,” came Thorin’s rumbling voice from across the table, seemingly shocking all of the occupants of the room.

He looked embarrassed once again as he continued, seemingly avoiding Bilbo’s eyes. “To keep an eye on Fíli and Kíli. So that Bilbo doesn’t have to. He needs to...actually be able to look at the apartment.”

Bilbo quickly snapped his mouth closed, which had been hanging open from surprise at Thorin’s suggestion.

_He doesn’t trust you with them yet. It has nothing to do with him actually wanting to come along with you, get over yourself._

His internal voice chided him. Though that rosy pink color had painted the tips of Thorin’s ears once again, and he was steadfastly ignoring Bilbo’s stare. He also seemed to be avoiding looking at Dís for more than a moment at a time. The older sibling had a look that Bilbo might categorize as vaguely suspicious, had he known the woman better. She had an eyebrow crooked at Thorin, and a hint of smirk started to pull at the corner of her mouth after a few moments.

“Well, Thorin, aren’t we feeling social today?” she asked, smirk still in place as she lifted her glass of wine to her lips. 

Thorin answered with a grimace. Before Bilbo could even begin to formulate some sort of explanation for the odd interaction between the siblings, Dís’ expression changed as she set down her wine glass.

“Right, then. That will work out, as I’ve got a lot of work to do, unfortunately, or I’d accompany you too!” she said, smiling sympathetically at Bilbo. “Thorin will keep them in line as best he can, I’m sure. It’ll be good job training for you.”

She offered Bilbo a wink and stood up from the table. Thorin’s expression remained sour, even as Kíli jumped from his chair and began chattering excitedly to Fíli. Bilbo smiled at the boys, but found his gaze slipping back to Thorin, curious and captivated by the lingering red dusting his cheeks and ears.

~

Tonya looked a little surprised when Bilbo met her outside the last property with not only Thorin, but two eager young boys in tow, but the realtor seemed to take it in stride. If Bilbo’s newfound company stressed her out, she was exceedingly professional and didn’t show it.

This apartment was the closest to the neighborhood of townhouses where the Durins lived, and the highest listed price, but still within his allotted stipend. They had walked over in less than ten minutes, with Kíli chatting excitedly at his older brother, who was in good spirits and seemed to humor him with the occasional laugh and response. Thorin had remained silent on the way over, but some of the tension in his posture seemed to ebb once they reached the apartment building.

Bilbo wondered if Tonya had purposely saved the best for last as he gazed up at the lovely little brick building, only comprised of two apartments. The top floor unit was the one Bilbo was going to look at, with a neat little bay window jutting out from the facade and empty flower boxes hanging from two windows further to the right. He hadn’t even seen the inside yet, but very much approved of the outside. Tonya let them all in through a side door with a small entryway, and then up a narrow set of stairs with an old wooden railing and balusters. She unlocked the door at the top of the stairs and the group filed inside, Fíli and Kíli running ahead. Bilbo audibly gasped upon entering the unit.

Golden afternoon sunlight was streaming through the bay windows he had seen from the outside, illuminating polished hardwood floors. There was a bench seat built into the space where the windows jutted out from the building, adorned for the moment with only a slab of dark wood.

Bilbo turned to his left, taking in a medium-sized kitchen with shiny, new-looking appliances and a long kitchen island with a granite countertop that separated the room from the large open space. Extending from the front room were a set of double french doors with glass panes and brass hooks at the top for curtains that led into what Bilbo could only assume was the bedroom. He wordlessly walked through the double doors into the bedroom, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He could hear Thorin’s quiet footsteps behind him.

The bedroom was large, with a high ceiling, and a deep closet, if the sounds of Kíli and Fíli creating a ruckus from within the walls was to be trusted. Bilbo peered out of the two windows on one wall of the bedroom and realized they were the ones he had seen from the front. It was a great view to the street below, and the well-kempt facades of the other buildings. This room, too, was bathed in afternoon light, and Bilbo couldn’t help the excited images that flitted through his mind as he pictured his furniture, his plants, Primula’s art filling this lovely space. He turned to Tonya, eyes still wide.

“Are these windows all -”

“South-facing? Yes.” she filled in helpfully, smiling a tad smugly, which Bilbo could forgive her for.

He turned and walked out of the bedroom in a daze, eyeing the kitchen lovingly as he passed by. He walked down a short hallway and located the bathroom, which also opened up into a larger space than expected. Within was a pretty black and white tiled floor, a clawfoot bathtub, and a blessedly large polished granite counter with a sink basin inlaid. A round mirror with an elegant frame hung above the sink. Above the toilet was a small sliding window, which Bilbo walked over to and peered out of. From above he could see a lovely little brick courtyard with trees and shrubbery, and the open back door of a flower shop.

He could not believe how perfect this apartment was, suddenly overcome with emotion. It was the flower shop that had sent him over the edge, memories of his mother’s once beautiful and vibrant garden flooding his mind. He pulled himself together before turning and slowly walking out of the bathroom to face the realtor and Thorin, who were waiting in the large entryway.

“I love it. It’s...it’s perfect,” he said, biting down into his lip as his gaze flitted around the space. He couldn’t stop looking around, taking it all in.

Just then Kíli came barrelling out of the bedroom, Fíli hot on his heels.

“Bilbo, you have to live here! The closet is SO BIG!” Kíli shouted, then offered a meek apology when Thorin glared at him with a firm “inside voice” comment.

“It’s so close to our house, Bilbo! We could...we could come and hang out here, sometimes. That would be cool,” Fíli added, trying not to sound too excited even as a shy smile graced his lips.

Bilbo laughed, the action coming easily to him even after the panic and pain he had felt earlier at lunch that had left him so exhausted. He looked to Thorin, feeling giddy and wanting to bring the silent, hovering man into the conversation.

“Well? What do you think? You’re the architect.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo for a moment, eyebrows raised, then glanced around the apartment, and down at his nephews who had already moved again to scramble up onto the bench seat and plaster themselves against the bay windows, gazing down onto the street below.

“It’s...lovely. Truly. It seems like a very nice place to live,” he said slowly, his gaze returning to Bilbo. He was leveling Bilbo with the same scrutinizing glance as before, but it was softer this time, indiscernible.

Bilbo nodded, holding his gaze for a moment and then turning back to Tonya. The short brunette was looking at him with a patient smile.

“Well. I think I’m sold. I’ll take it,” Bilbo said, his heart feeling lighter as he did so.

~

Bilbo and Thorin walked back to the townhouse in companionable silence after the tour, Fíli and Kíli farther up ahead, the younger jumping from fallen leaf to leaf in delight. Bilbo was watching fondly when Thorin spoke up.

“They really like you.”

Bilbo looked up at him, surprised. Thorin’s profile was lined with sunlight, the loose hair of his curls creating a fuzzy, golden halo around his head. His eyes were fixed ahead on Fíli and Kíli, but his gaze seemed far away.

“They’ve had trouble...connecting with other adults since...everything that happened.”

Bilbo could tell that Thorin was facing an internal struggle, just as he had before when he had briefly opened up about Fíli’s troubles since the move.

“I think that’s perfectly understandable,” Bilbo began softly, but Thorin’s lips twisted into a grimace and his gaze flitted down to Bilbo, looking vaguely guilty.

“No...well yes, but...It wasn’t just the move,” Thorin sighed deeply and brought a hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching it between two fingers and for a moment he looked very vulnerable. Bilbo’s fingers itched to reach out and place a comforting hand on his shoulder as he would with most, but he restrained himself.

“As you now know, Fíli and Kíli’s father died about 4 years ago. He and Dís divorced years ago, a few years after Kíli was born. But despite his faults, Romli loved his kids very much.” Thorin paused, his expression hardening. “Romli...struggled with addiction. It made Dís distrustful. You have to understand, she had...grown up watching adults in her life deal with it, and with dire consequences.”

Bilbo tried not to look too wide-eyed, though he was a bit shocked that Thorin was sharing so much, as well as intrigued by the new information about the secretive family.

“Romli died in a car accident. He was driving drunk. Fíli and Kíli don’t know that he was under the influence...in fact, they hardly know anything about Romli’s alcoholism at all. They both idolize him - particularly Fíli - and, well, they haven’t reacted well to other...caretaker figures that have been introduced into their lives.” The grimace remained on Thorin’s face, and something clicked in Bilbo’s mind.

“I...hope I’m not speaking out of turn, I know I’ve just met your family but…” Bilbo began, swallowing nervously when Thorin’s intense gaze was turned on him. “I think it’s very clear that your nephews love you immensely. They’re clearly in pain, and dealing with some of their own issues, but I think it’s plain to see that you’re incredibly dear to them.”

Thorin’s stormy features softened as Bilbo spoke, and the latter gasped quietly, heart racing at the way Thorin’s countenance could shift so quickly and completely. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened, the corners of his lips lifted, and his eyes swam with light. Bilbo felt lightheaded for a moment, and chalked it up to a long and exhausting day as he returned his gaze to the energetic figures up ahead, his mind racing.

“That’s kind of you to say,” Thorin finally spoke, and when Bilbo looked back up at him the other had returned his gaze ahead. “Fíli had always been interested in science, primarily. When he was a child.”

Bilbo was slightly taken aback by the change in subject, but listened, curious.

“Romli was an historian. He taught for a while, but mostly wrote books. After he died, Fíli became interested in history too. It became his primary interest not a year later, and all that he’s cared about since.”

Thorin’s pained but carefully controlled expressions when Fíli had been talking about his love for history suddenly made sense. This whole family was a complicated puzzle of traumas and secrets that did not easily want to be unraveled. He was beginning to understand why Thorin was the way he was, and suddenly felt immense gratitude towards the closed-off man for sharing so much with him.

They rounded a corner and the townhouse came into view, and Bilbo had a distinct feeling that this unseasonably warm autumn afternoon, with Thorin open and vulnerable, and Fíli and Kíli happily playing and laughing on the sidewalk - that this whole magical moment was about to come to an end. He stopped, reaching out a gentle hand to connect with Thorin’s forearm and stop him too. He spoke with some urgency.

“Mr. Durin...I understand your need for privacy, and not wanting to share private family details with outsiders. I truly do. I just wanted to say...that I really appreciate you telling me all of this. I’m sure it’s not easy to talk about either. But I appreciate your candor because...I think that knowing this, understanding the source of the boys’ distress, will be really immeasurably helpful in connecting with them and helping them learn and grow.” Bilbo spoke earnestly and clearly, a bit afraid of Thorin’s reaction.

Thorin looked at him with an unreadable expression and then glanced back at the boys, who hadn’t noticed the other two stopping on the sidewalk.

“I...I believe it was necessary. And I believe that you want to help them...and Dís thinks so too. I spoke with her for a while and...and she said I should be a little more trustworthy.”

That sheepish expression crossed Thorin’s face once again and to Bilbo’s delighted surprise, he cracked a smile. It was unexpected and small, but it stopped Bilbo’s breath and he felt a pang of unmistakable longing.

“So I’m trying to be. And...you can call me Thorin.” 

For the second time today, Bilbo wanted to run away and go lock himself in a room somewhere, but not to cry this time. He wanted to scream. The last thing he needed right now was a crush on his employer. His gorgeous, tall, brooding employer.

Bilbo realized he hadn’t said anything, he was just staring at Thorin, biting on the corner of his lip, his eyes steadfastly fixed the other’s face and not letting his gaze drift down the broad chest, thick arms, and strong hands...And Thorin was looking right back at him. For about the millionth time that day Bilbo felt heat creeping up his neck under the weight of that intense and unreadable gaze. 

“Hey!! What are you doing? Hurry up!” Fíli’s voice cried from ahead, breaking Bilbo from his reverie.

Thorin jumped too, clearly surprised. Bilbo and him looked over at the two kids who were already up the stairs and waiting impatiently by the front door. Thorin started walking briskly towards the door without another word or glance back at Bilbo, and the latter followed with a sigh, pushing down the feelings of longing that blossomed in his chest at the absence.

~

Later that night, when Bilbo had gotten in, cooked himself a quick dinner, and passed out exhausted in his bed, his phone buzzed from under his pillow. Groaning, he pulled it out, squinting at the bright screen in the darkness of his room. A notification popped up, informing him that he had one unread message from Thorin Durin. A _text message._

Bilbo scrambled to unlock the phone, trying his best not to drop the thing on his face with his sleepy, clumsy fingers. When he finally opened the message, he felt his heart swell. It was a short message, as usual. It read:

“Get home safe? -T”

Bilbo wanted to smack himself, biting his lip to try and suppress the grin that spread across his face. He was ultimately unsuccessful, and he buried his face in his pillow for a moment, taking a deep breath before composing himself. This was ridiculous. _He_ was being ridiculous. It had been so long since he had had a...crush. He had almost forgotten what it felt like. He knew it was pointless at best, dangerous at worst...but Thorin showing even the smallest concern for his wellbeing was wooing him like a character from a Jane Austen novel.

He quickly composed a message, decisively for once, and sent it before he could change his mind.

“Yep! Good night, Thorin. :)”

He fell asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof this turned out way longer than I had planned. 
> 
> p.s.: just want to say that there will be light themes of addiction in this story, but nothing terribly graphic. The Durin's reactions to it may be a bit negative but I personally support those suffering from addiction fully and unquestionably, and intend only to portray characters also suffering from it with the utmost respect and honesty.


	5. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a busy week moving to London, connecting with old friends, and getting to know the boys.

For the first time that he could remember, Bilbo was excited about packing. He had gotten a belated response from Thorin to his initial email, asking that Bilbo start as soon as he was able. Bilbo had signed the lease for the lovely little second floor apartment he’d explored with Thorin and the boys, and began packing almost immediately the next day. He would start the following Monday, which gave him more than enough time to pack his meager collection of belongings.

Though excited, Bilbo still was a bit overwhelmed by the process of packing. He found himself standing in the middle of his mother’s living room, open boxes strewn all around the floor, and couldn’t help but think back to a few years ago when he was in this very spot, but feeling very different and far more unsure about his future. Though, to be honest, he didn’t feel all that sure about his future at the moment, either, but he was less filled with dread at the prospect of that unknown. He stared for a long time at the sturdy wooden bookcase that had always been such a staple of his mother’s home. After a long moment of contemplation, he decided to pack up her books as well as his own. He knew he couldn’t take this book case - it was too large, and besides, it felt like part of the house - so he’d surely be picking one up soon enough once he’d moved into the new place.

The rest of Bilbo’s belongings fit neatly in the dozen or so boxes he had picked up, and the only pieces of furniture he was bringing with him were one of the mattresses and bed frames from his mother’s spare bedroom and a worn but cozy reading chair that had moved with him from apartment to apartment since he first went off to university. His previous apartments had been furnished, so he hadn’t collected much in the way of furniture. He supposed that was going to bite him in the arse now as he would have to empty his checking account to buy some new furniture, but then when he thought about how much farther his paychecks would stretch not having to pay rent, he decided he didn’t mind that much after all.

A few days later Bilbo was standing under the overhang in front of his mother’s house, hand secured firmly on the doorknob of the front door. He had always loved that door; it was so different from all the others in the neighborhood. It was a slightly rounded shape, with the curved door frame of the house built specially to accommodate it. It was painted a deep forest green that had faded and chipped over the years, but it only added character. He had been so ready to leave - the trailer he had rented was attached to the back of his mum’s old car, which in turn was stuffed with cardboard boxes. But now, all of a sudden, he felt a cold stream of fear run down his back as he held onto the doorknob. He knew that it wasn’t rational, but he somehow felt that he was leaving his mother behind.

He took a deep, shaky breath of the misty, autumn air and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he forced his gaze away from the door and surveyed the grey horizon, a few blobs of dark green from the overgrown weeds and hardy shrubs in the front garden dotting the scene. His eyes drifted to the car, packed and ready to go, when a flash of bright green caught his attention. It was his mother’s pothos, of course, which he had carefully secured in a box in the front seat; it’s chartreuse and yellow leaves were peeking up from the edge of the box, overflowing against the window. It had really recovered once he had rescued it from his apartment a few years back, and was flourishing, bursting with color.

_ Well that’s as good a sign as any,  _ he thought with a smile, finally letting go of the doorknob as he latched the door shut.  _ She’s still with me.  _

Bilbo locked the front door, then circled around to the back of the house, placing the key underneath a large, flat stone behind a squat shrub as he had promised Drogo and Primula he would, and then went back to the front of the house to stare at the familiar green door once again. This time, though, there was no fear.

“I’m going to make you proud, mum,” Bilbo whispered, and turned on his heel, walking up the gravel walkway into the mist.

~

By the time Bilbo had finished his third exhausting drive to London in as many weeks, trailer in tow, it had finally stopped raining. He thanked the heavens for both that, and the parking space in a small, private lot that went along with his lease. He did curse under his breath, and then later much loudly, after he had moved the first half a dozen boxes up to the second floor on his own. He was quite winded, and slightly moody at the prospect of having to finish the rest. He took a brief rest sitting on the open floor of the trailer and glanced back forlornly at the mattress and bedframe. Finally he found the motivation to get up and try to move them.

As he began to yank the mattress onto its side and out of the trailer, it’s awkward form wobbled around unsteadily and he realized that there was no way he was going to be able to carry it into the building and up the stairs on his own. He groaned in frustration, slamming his head against the ancient boxspring relic.

Just then a jovial and vaguely familiar voice called out from behind him.

“Oi! Need some help?”

Still holding the heavy mattress in place as it loomed over him from the trailer, Bilbo craned his neck to see who the voice belonged to. Standing behind him was a man of average height and build, wearing several layers and an old raincoat, battered looking jeans, a pair of mud-splattered boots, and a somewhat ridiculous looking winter hat with ear flaps, currently flopped over his short cropped brown hair. He had a large and impressive mustache and beard that Bilbo might have classified as “hipster-ish”, but the man had a kindly and humble look to him that didn’t quite match with that description. At the moment, he was wearing a bemused expression on his face, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingertips.

Bilbo considered for a moment if he should engage with this man, potentially invite a serial killer into his home, as he regarded him. He rationalized that the man probably lived nearby, and this didn’t seem like a terribly sketchy neighborhood. Not to mention, he really did need help getting this mattress into the apartment. And he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but there was something very familiar about the man’s face, he just couldn’t place it, but he felt as though he could trust him.

Bilbo shrugged as best he could with the burden in his arms and nodded. “Yeah, thanks, actually I could use some help, if you wouldn’t mind. Just need to get this in and onto the second floor. I really appreciate it!”

“Sure thing!” the other man nodded with a bright smile, and crouched to extinguish his cigarette on the damp pavement. 

As he approached Bilbo realized that despite his homely outfit, the man had a friendly and handsome face, kind brown eyes framed by crow’s feet and a dimpled smile. 

“Name’s Bofur. You’re movin’ in I suppose? Welcome to the neighborhood!” the man chattered happily as he helped Bilbo remove the mattress and they somewhat awkwardly arranged it so that both were carrying an end. 

Bilbo nearly pitched over when Bofur began walking backwards at a brisk pace with the mattress. Clearly the man was used to carrying around heavy things.

“It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Bilbo. Just moved here from Hobbiton, actually. For a job.” Bilbo spoke in starts in between slightly labored breaths - he was embarrassed to admit it, but he was having a much more difficult time carrying the mattress than Bofur was. 

“Woooow Hobbiton - that’s a far drive, innit? Must be a good job!” Bofur mused, seemingly unaware of Bilbo’s plight.

“I think so! Well, I hope so,” Bilbo said breathily as the two struggled up the stairs.

After about 5 more minutes, with Bofur graciously bearing the load of the weight without complaint, the two made it to Bilbo’s front door, and with much less of a struggle carried it into the apartment to drop on the floor. Once Bilbo had caught his breath he turned to face Bofur, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable, unsure if he should invite the man for tea, even though his tea was packed up somewhere in one of the dozen or so boxes on his floor...but Bofur was already retreating. Bilbo hurried out the door, catching the man descending the hallway staircase.

“Hey! Um, thank you so much for the help! Can I...offer you...tea, or something? It will probably take a little bit since I need to locate my mugs...and kettle...and er, my tea…” Bilbo called after him, trying to keep up as Bofur quickly descended the stairs.

The other finally stopped on the first floor landing, chuckling a bit at Bilbo’s monologue, and pulled a fresh cigarette from a case in the front pocket of his jacket.

“Ah, that’s very kind of you, lad - Bilbo, was it?” Bofur began, smiling warmly at Bilbo who nodded in response. “But I’m on my break - and there’s no one else mindin’ the shop. So I’ve got to run. But it was my pleasure to help! Never miss out on a good deed to be done, I always say.”

Bilbo paled, suddenly feeling horribly guilty that he’d dragged Bofur into helping him move heavy furniture while the poor man was taking his break. 

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry you spent your break doing this! If I’d known-” 

“Don’t worry your head over it! It was my pleasure, I mean it!” Bofur interrupted Bilbo’s sputtering with a lazy wave of his hand and stepped out of the front door. “But if you really feel like you have to make it up to me...I’ve got a nursery shop downtown, and it looks like your new place could use some color. Why don’t you stop on by?”

Bilbo’s eyes lit up as a grin spread across his face.

“Perfect! I love plants! I used to have a lot more...and I’ve been looking to replenish my collection.”

“Lovely! We’re open till 5 today. Staffed by yours truly. The place is called ‘Blue Mountain Brothers Nursery,’ just two blocks down that way,” Bofur pointed a thumb behind him as he pulled out a lighter. “And a left on South Avenue. Blue awning, you can’t miss it.”

Bilbo thanked the man profusely once more, a bit breathless still, and went to unload the rest of his boxes from the back of his car before he lost the motivation. About 30 minutes later he was seated on his old reading chair, which he had tucked into the corner of the big open living room. It was currently the only piece of furniture in the room. He decided that furniture shopping would be his next priority.

Bilbo ordered Indian takeout for lunch from a place that popped up during his initial google search, and hungrily devoured it in large bites between unpacking his kitchen and bedroom boxes. After he had put away his modest collection of pots, pans, and tableware, a thought crossed Bilbo’s mind - he wondered if his friend Ori from grad school was still living in London. 

He felt another pang of guilt and self-loathing bubble up in his stomach at the thought. He swallowed the food in his mouth, trying to ignore the nausea. He needed to stop dwelling on these constant feelings of guilt, but he couldn’t help but feel bad for having left everyone in the dark for so long after his mother’s passing. He and Ori had been particularly close, having been in the same cohort, banning together against the classicists in their department that considered their focus superior to all others. 

Bilbo took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves and banish the guilt that weighed on his shoulders so often when remembering everything he had left behind. Ori was always such a sweetheart, and had helped Bilbo through so much. Even though Bilbo had long stopped answering his facebook messages and gave short, distracted replies to his texts, Ori had consistently checked up on him here and there over the years, and Bilbo was fairly sure his friend would still want to talk to him if he reached out, even after all this time.

Bilbo sat still for a few moments, chewing his lip and staring out of his bay windows into the grey sky, before finally pulling out his phone. He thought for a moment before composing a text to Ori.

“Hey Ori. I’m so sorry it’s been forever. I hope you’re doing well. Are you still living in London?”

He stared at it a moment, wondering if he shouldn’t bother at all, then pressed send before he could change his mind. He wasn’t sure if Ori was still in London at all - at this point he’d have moved on to beginning his dissertation, so he could easily be elsewhere in Europe doing research. And Bilbo wasn’t even sure if his old friend would want to see him, he was likely very busy with his own life and friends, and didn’t have time…

He shook his head, unconsciously, trying to push the self-critical thoughts away. It wasn’t doing him any good to dwell on them. He slowly stood from the reading chair where he had been resting, gazing around forlornly at the empty space, filled only with the dozen boxes he had brought. He really needed furniture.

Bilbo checked his phone and realized it was only 1 in the afternoon. He had left early in the morning thinking that he would need more time to unpack, and then realized when he got there that he had nowhere to put his belongings. His books were currently stacked in precarious towering piles around the living room and bedroom, and his suitcase lay stuffed clothes as he had packed it at the foot of his bed. His pothos sat happily on the bench seat in front of the bay window. He sighed and unlocked his phone to look for the closest cheap furniture store.

~

About 45 minutes later Bilbo was walking around in a used furniture shop, biting his lip as he peered at the price tags on couches. Most looked lumpy and heavy, and even with the trailer still attached to his car he would need help getting them into his apartment. And for used furniture, they were still pretty pricey. He knew it wasn’t the most practical thing to do, but he found himself wandering over to the section shelves and side tables, a menagerie of mismatched pieces in every imaginable color and style. 

He was eyeing a newish looking minimalist set of shelves, a warm cherry color with black metal rods on the sides when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and smiled when he saw that he had a message from Ori.

“Bilbo!! so good to hear from u mate! hows it going? N yes am still in London, though i moved to a better spot. just getting my soul sucked out by my committee, as usual. :)”

Bilbo chuckled under his breath as he read the message, remembering how Ori had always been pale-faced before committee meetings, preparing to have his latest draft ripped to shreds. They usually commiserated over a cuppa afterwards in a cafe near campus. Most of Bilbo’s fondest memories from graduate school involved Ori. He quickly typed out a reply, telling Ori that he would love to meet up for lunch or something if his friend had time, and that he had just moved back to London.

Not two full minutes after sending the text, Bilbo was once again interrupted from his browsing as his phone began to vibrate - Ori was calling him.

“Hello? Ori-” Bilbo began as he picked up the phone, but was interrupted by a loud, garbled stream of words that came out of the receiver.

“BILBO! You twat! You’re back in London and you didn’t tell me?! How long have you been here?”

Bilbo winced, holding the phone away from his ear as his normally soft-spoken friend berated him. “Sorry Ori! I just moved in…literally today. I got a job here in London…a teaching position, sort of…”

“Well that’s great, Bilbo! Where are you teaching? I’m so excited you’re back!”

“Well it’s sort of…like a private tutoring situation. It’s kind of complicated, bit of a long story. I was kind of hoping, well…if you’re not too busy…”

“We absolutely have to grab lunch. Or a coffee. I need to know what’s going on in your life! Oh Bilbo, I’m so happy to hear from you.” Ori had calmed from his initial indignation, and his tone softened further as he went on. “I was so worried about you. I…I wanted to reach out more, but I didn’t want to bother you…”

Bilbo’s heart ached for his friend.

“Ori, you were a great and supportive friend. You reached out a ton, I was just a wanker and didn’t answer. Things have been…well, my life hasn’t been going exactly how I’d hoped it might. But I’m pretty excited about this job, and I think it may present some other interesting opportunities…”

“Bilboooo! You’re sweet. I’m sorry things have been hard. I’m so glad you found a job you like, I’m excited to hear more about it.”

“Yeah, definitely. Hmm..we could get lunch this week, if you want…”

“Oh I’d love to! But I’m so busy this week…I’ve got this teaching assistant position, which is great, but I’ve got to attend the lecture plus teach two sections a week, with that and my current courseload I’m just absolutely swamped during the weekdays. Oh, and I need to finish writing this damn grant application.”

Bilbo’s heart sank a little, but he understood. He knew that Ori would be busy, and certainly wouldn’t have time for someone who hadn’t played an active role in his life for years. He was just about to tell his friend that it was fine, and that they would see each other when they saw each other, when he spoke again.

“So we’ll just do the weekend! How’s Saturday sound?”

Bilbo felt a warmth blossom inside of him.

“That would be lovely. Really. But are you sure? It sounds like you’re so busy…”

“Nonsense! I mean, well, yes, I am quite busy. But I have to give myself some time to relax. Saturdays are for sleeping in, the occasional wake and bake-” Bilbo chuckled as the Ori continued – “and getting lunch with dear friends who I haven’t seen in ages.”

“Hmm…wake and bake sounds like a better use of your Saturdays, honestly.” Bilbo replied dryly, but he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.

“Cheeky. But maybe we can do a bit of that too, later on. For old times sake,” Ori chuckled in response.

“That’d be nice. But really, I would love to get lunch with you. You pick a place, I’ve been gone too long. We’ll plan on Saturday?”

“Absolutely. We need to re-familiarize you with London cuisine! Bet you’re dying after being in Hobbiton for so long.”

“That’s for bloody sure. I got Indian takeout for lunch today.”

“Well I’ll text you! I’ll think of a good place. I gotta go, I’ve got office hours…” Ori sounded regretful.

“Oh, please! Go, go! I don’t want to keep you. I’ve got furniture shopping to do. I’ll talk to you soon, Ori.”

“It was good to hear your voice Bilbo. See you soon!”

Bilbo sighed contentedly as he hung up the phone. He hadn’t realized quite how much he had missed his old friend until he was chatting with him, hearing his old friend make quips like they were back in grad school together. He tried not to dwell too long on the fact that Ori still  _ was  _ in grad school, and he wasn’t anymore.

Bilbo brushed the thought aside. He was happy to hear from Ori, and Ori was happy to hear from him, and he wasn’t going to let his anxiety tell him otherwise.

After about another 45 minutes of browsing, Bilbo had picked and purchased two lightweight bookcases made from black polished lattice supports and light cedar boards. They were only lightly used and had a little bit of scuffing. He also selected a small, modest drop-leaf wooden table and two slightly mismatched chairs – but they held up to weight and didn’t wobble, which was enough for him. He loaded his purchases into his car and trailer and braved the London traffic back to his little apartment.

It took him four frustratingly slow trips to carry the two bookshelves, the table, and two chairs up to his second-floor apartment, and by the time he was finished, he was exhausted. It was only half past three and weak afternoon light was filtering through Bilbo’s bay windows. He dropped into his reading chair and let his eyes slip closed – his body felt leaden in his chair. He suddenly remembered that he had promised Bofur a trip to his plant shop, and felt a bit guilty. He sighed and rose from the chair, and then shuffled into the kitchen to locate his French press and fix himself a strong cup of coffee.

After he had recaffeinated and snacked on his takeout leftovers, Bilbo felt reenergized and even a little excited to do some plant shopping. He grabbed his coat and keys and left the apartment on foot – he didn’t feel like dealing with parking on the street. As he made his way down the street in the direction Bofur had indicated, he realized the area looked familiar – it was in the direction of the Durin’s townhouse. When he took the turn onto the street Bofur had indicated, he realized that it was the street he had parked on when he first came to London for his interview. Bilbo knew he must have been stressed out for the occasion, because it was unlike him to miss a plant shop.

He came upon a storefront, packed between two other buildings, with a squat, light blue awning and a large, shiny display window. A logo had been painted on in neat cursive white over a black oval: Blue Mountain Bros.: Nursery & Plant Supply. A few plants were artfully arranged in the front window on top of simple white-painted stools, upside-down crates, and even a pile of what looked like old botanical books. A fig tree stretched towards the light in the corner of the display, strung with twinkling white lights. Bilbo smiled and pushed the door open and a bell tinkled softly announcing his presence.

The inside of the store was a jungle; every imaginable shade of green covered the walls in cascading vines, flopping fronds, and delicate leaves. The décor was somewhat haphazard; more crates and a wheelbarrow served as display stands for smaller plants. Plants hung from the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling, which were wrapped from the front of the store to the back in the same soft-white string lights in the display window. In the back of the store bags of mulch and potting soil, fertilizers, plant pots and watering cans were arranged more neatly on a crude wooden set of shelves. The place was incredibly charming, and Bilbo was taken with it.

“So you made it!” a voice called from within the foliage, and Bilbo walked forward a few steps to peer around a large elephant-ear philodendron that was bursting from its pot in all directions.

Sure enough, Bofur sat behind a wooden check-out counter, smiling pleasantly at Bilbo.

“I did! I had some furniture shopping to do…but decided plant shopping was equally as important,” he said playfully, and Bofur chuckled in response.

“Well, I can see you’re dying to check out the selection yourself…so I’ll leave you to it! Let me know if you have any questions.”

Bilbo nodded, grateful for the man’s understanding, and started to eagerly explore the indoor jungle around him.

He had been wandering around the store for about 20 minutes, immersed in the beautiful foliage, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was holding a bright green and yellow snake plant in one arm, and a beautifully shaped  _ monstera deliciosa  _ in the other, and juggled them for a moment to no avail before carefully setting them on the floor.

“Alright Ori, giving me more crap already…?” he muttered as he pulled his phone from his pocket, and then nearly dropped it when he saw that he had a message from Thorin.

He quickly unlocked his phone and read the message. As usual, it was short and to the point, just two words: “Moved in?” Bilbo covered his mouth with the back of his hand, a smile curling at his lips. He was now starting to believe that Thorin was genuinely incapable of texting in full sentences, and damn it, that shouldn’t have been even remotely endearing, and yet…

He quickly typed out a response confirming that he had indeed moved in that morning, and hit send. He couldn’t tell if Thorin was asking about him having moved in to be polite and friendly, or if he just wanted to make sure that his nephew’s tutor was actually  _ in  _ the city for the job he would be starting after the weekend was over. That was the problem with two word responses in text messages,  _ lots of room for ambiguity _ , Bilbo thought, bending to scoop up his plants and place them on the counter in front of Bofur. The other man beamed at Bilbo in what seemed to be his signature expression and began quickly typing codes from the labels into an ancient computer.

“I’m surprised you’re only walking out with two! The way you were eyein’ some of em…” Bofur winked and Bilbo laughed.

“Two for now. More once I get my first paycheck,” he said mock-solemnly, eliciting a chuckle from Bofur.

He felt his phone buzz again in his pocket and ignored it for the moment as he grabbed his wallet and pulled out a few crisp notes to hand to Bofur. To his surprise, the other waved a big gloved hand in his direction.

“Fifteen’ll do it,” he said, slipping the appropriate amount out of Bilbo’s outstretched hand.

“Wh- Are you sure? I really couldn’t – ” he sputtered in response, unsure of how to react to the shopkeeper’s unexpected generosity.

“Yes. I’m sure. Consider it a member’s discount – incentive to come back!”

“Do you…can I have a membership?”

“Nope,” Bofur said decisively, punctuating the ‘p’ particularly hard. “But you can pretend you do.”

Bilbo laughed and shook his head, deciding that he might just have to get used to the unexpected kindness and generosity of this near stranger with his slight unplaceable accent and silly headwear.

“Alright, I suppose I can do that. Thank you, really. I will definitely be back,” Bilbo said, and then sighed as his phone buzzed again. He pulled it out and unlocked it without looking and then briefly glanced down at it as took the plants into his arms once more. He nearly dropped them on the floor when he did. He had two messages from Thorin which read:

“OK good. I have Fíli and Kíli’s lesson plans for this wk. I’ll drop them off soon.”

And then, a few minutes later:

“Leaving now.”

Bilbo might have appreciated the fact that Thorin had texted him multiple sentences if he wasn’t so panicked. Thorin was coming to his apartment, right now, and he wasn’t there. Not to mention his apartment was hardly presentable, he was hardly presentable –

“Seen a ghost?” Bofur’s voice broke him from his reverie, and clearly his face must have shown his internal panic because the other looked somewhat concerned.

“I’m sorry, I need to run! It was nice meeting you today and thanks for the help with moving…and the plants…have a good afternoon!” Bilbo’s voice rose as he darted out of the shop, precariously juggling his purchases as he pushed out the door.

He imagined he must have looked a bit looney racing down the sidewalk with two potted plants in either arm, an increasingly panicked look on his face.

When he finally arrived at the townhouse, Bilbo sprinted up the short outside staircase and cursed as he realized he needed his keys. Mumbling to himself, he tried to gingerly shift the little grey pot with the snake plant into the crook of his elbow, with minimal success. It was balanced rather precariously as he rifled through his pocket, looking for his keys. After about 25 frustrating seconds of searching he located them and pulled them out with haste, sending them flying up in an arc and then onto the ground. Groaning in frustration, he began to bend to reach for them, but as he did the precariously balanced snake plant tumbled from his grasp. Bilbo’s stomach sank as he winced in anticipation of the crash from the pot smashing on the ground. To his surprise, no crash came.

He whipped around and to his immense surprise, Thorin was standing on the step below him, snake pot grasped tightly in two strong hands, hovering barely a foot or so above the cement steps. 

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, nearly fumbling his other plant. “Ah - Mr. Dur - Thorin! Sorry! You scared the daylights out of me.”

Thorin stood up slowly, plant still in hand, and made no reply but a quirked eyebrow in Bilbo’s direction. Bilbo flushed. Today Thorin was wearing a rather plain leather jacket, a collared dark purple shirt, and black slacks. His hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck, and he had a characteristic frown on his face.

“Thank you for catching my plant. You saved him. I am forever in your debt,” Bilbo quipped, hoping to get some sort of response out of the stoic man.

Thorin’s eyebrow raised a little higher and he snorted, a short, gruff sound. It felt like a victory to Bilbo. Swallowing his nervousness, he finally managed to pick the keys off the ground and unlock the door, ears burning. 

“Erm, would you like to come in?” he turned to Thorin, still holding his plant. “Oh. I can take that-”

Thorin brushed past him smoothly into the hallway, ignoring Bilbo’s outstretched hand.

“I’ve got it. Your hands are full. Clearly,” Thorin emphasized the last word with a slight turn of his head as he proceeded up the staircase. 

Bilbo felt a twinge of annoyance and embarrassment, but it was overshadowed by the sight of those black trousers hugging Thorin’s arse as he ascended the stairs before Bilbo. He decided to focus on his own feet instead as he climbed the stairs.

“I thought you said you were moved in? You could’ve told me not to come if you were busy,” Thorin continued when Bilbo offered no clever response to his previous dig.

“Well, you asked me if I had  _ moved in  _ yet, not whether or not I was at home  _ presently, _ ” Bilbo began, a bit of snippiness in his tone. “And I didn’t see your other texts...I was preoccupied.”

“With plant shopping,” Thorin said in an almost deadpan voice, but Bilbo could sense he was being teased.

“Yes! It’s very important, that! My current plant collection is miniscule, I need to build it back up again…” Bilbo pulled out his keys - with far more careful dexterity than before - and stuck them in the door of his apartment when they reached the second floor. As he pushed the door open, surveying the mostly empty apartment with only a table, two wooden chairs, and a big reading chair as furniture, he suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed at having Thorin Durin visiting his apartment in this state.

He walked over to the bay windows and gently placed the swiss cheese plant on the bench, admiring the way the fading afternoon light shone through the gaps and holes in its leaves.

“You buy plants before you buy furniture?” Thorin said from behind him, voice gruff, and Bilbo really needed him to stop sneaking around like a ghost and then popping up behind him with no warning.

“Actually, I’ll have you know that I went out about bought five - FIVE whole pieces of furniture today before I bought any plants,” Bilbo quipped, and what was it about Thorin’s insolence that made him want to talk back so sassily to the brooding man?

Thorin raised his eyebrows in an expression that Bilbo interpreted to mean “you’re so fucking weird but I’m not going to say anythign else about it.” He held the snake plant out to Bilbo, and the latter took it from his grasp, looking around his mostly bare apartment for a good spot to put it. He walked over to one of his newly purchased bookshelves - pushed up against the wall on either side of the alcove with the bay windows, and stretched onto his toes to place it on top. He decided he would find a better spot for it later once he had a few more surfaces. When he turned around to face Thorin the other was watching him, and quickly looked away.

_ That was…odd, _ he thought, and decided to file away that thought to analyze later. 

He was trying to think of a good subject to strike up conversation with when Thorin pulled red a folder from inside his jacket and cleared his throat.

“I met with Fíli and Kíli’s teachers a bit early this semester, and explained that they have a private tutor so we would like some materials in advance. I got their syllabi for this semester as well as some study material for this week. Thought you’d want to look over them before you start this week,” Thorin said as he extended the folder to Bilbo, who took it from his grasp and began to leaf through it.

Bilbo smiled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looked up from the documents in his hands to Thorin. “This will be very helpful, thank you. I appreciate you bringing it over, but really, you didn’t have to. I could’ve picked it up, I know you’re busy…”

Thorin shrugged noncommittally, not meeting Bilbo’s gaze as he looked out the front window instead, “I finished work a bit early today. It was no bother. I thought I’d take a walk, enjoy the fresh air. I don’t get much of it most days.”

“I imagine not. With your work…” Bilbo trailed off, fiddling with the folder and papers in his hands - he was feeling increasingly anxious as he regarded their situation.

Thorin was standing so close to him, and it wasn’t very often that they were alone, and Bilbo could truly take note of how much taller Thorin was than him. He noticed how his blue eyes glinted dark in the low afternoon light, and how he looked vaguely uncomfortable as well. When he did meet Bilbo’s gaze his eyes were unreadable.

Bilbo felt the tension grow as the silence stretched between them. It seemed like Thorin wanted to say more - it always seemed like that with him - but he simply fixed that intense gaze on Bilbo that made the latter’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. If he knew more about the tall, quiet man, he would make a quip or try to start a conversation, learn more about him - but he was utterly unapproachable when it came to most personal matters. Not to mention a bit of a powder keg if asked the  _ wrong  _ question. And yet, Bilbo found himself frustratingly, endlessly intrigued by Thorin.

The moments ticked on, seemingly in slow motion, and Bilbo felt his heart beat increase and his face heat slightly, a heady mix of confusion and anticipating making him feel almost light-headed. 

_ Is he going to say something? Why isn’t he saying anything?  _

Finally, Thorin broke the silence, clearing his throat and looking away. The last of the afternoon light had receded behind thick, dark clouds and the apartment was considerably darker. The spell was broken.

“Well, I...need to get going,” he said, quietly, turning from Bilbo and pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Ah, yes, yes. Of course. I’ve probably kept you too long. Thank you, again, for bringing these over.”

Thorin, nodded, already reaching for the door handle.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, so quietly that Bilbo almost missed it, as he walked out the door and closed it behind him.

~

Bilbo spent the rest of the weekend studying the boys’ lesson plans and brushing up on his chemistry, though Fíli’s class was covering some very basic and introductory topics. He was surprised to see that the students would be given assignments during the first week of classes, but he supposed that private academies were more rigorous than the primary education he had received.

Kíli’s assignments were mostly some basic geography and spelling, so Bilbo didn’t concern himself overmuch with prepping for the younger sibling’s tutelage. With the extra time he had left over during the weekend, he painstakingly arranged his collection of books on the new shelves he had purchased. He decided to put his pothos on the top of one of the shelves - the leaves draped artfully over the side of the books, and his snake plant on the other. He had set up the little circular wooden table and chairs in the bay window alcove, and fell further in love with the cozy little space. He decided he would purchase some string lights later on to drape around the windows.

That Sunday evening, he sat at his table drinking a cup of tea and leafing through an old novel of his mother’s. He would often pull volumes from her myriad of fiction from the shelf, just to read short passages from them, smell the old paper, and feel the fragile bindings in his hands. It made him feel closer to her.

Tonight, however, he was having a bit of trouble focusing. His mind kept wandering to the task ahead of him, and whether the boys would still like him once he officially became their tutor, and whether or not their mysterious uncle liked him. It irritated him how much his thoughts kept wandering to Thorin. He knew that part of it was his drive to always impress employers, professors, and other mentor or advisory figures in his life. The fact that Thorin seemed so distant and disapproving made Bilbo feel as though he needed to try even harder to reach him.

He also knew that he was perhaps a little more attracted to the man than he wanted to be, but he wasn’t worried about it interfering with his work. The man was handsome, tall, and brooding. Anyone would have reasonably been attracted to him. Bilbo sipped at his tea, mind far off in thought as he convinced himself that in all likelihood, the crush would fade in a manner of weeks. 

He didn’t understand what was so damned intriguing about the man, but he was sure he’d lose interest soon enough.

~

The next day, Bilbo spent an hour or so fretting over the drive to pick up the boys; he made sure that he had the route thoroughly planned out, and researched where exactly he should park. Three years felt like such a long time to be away from a city as big as London, and he was new to driving there in general. He told himself that this was a new leaf for him, and that meant conquering some old anxieties. 

He drove cautiously (and perhaps a bit slowly for the other Lodoners) to the school, only mildly traumatized by the disorganized, bumpy, and tightly-packed roads. There was a waiting lane for parents picking up their children that Bilbo pulled up into and put his car in park, releasing some of his stress in a long drawn-out exhale. 

_ One trip down, one million to go,  _ he thought wryly as he rolled down his window and began to search the buzzing crowd of children for Fíli and Kíli.

After a few minutes a blur of long brown hair came darting out from the crowd and stopped, looking around wildly. Kíli’s uniform was somewhat disheveled; his tie was hanging loose around his neck like a scarf and one side of his shirt was untucked from his pants. A single sock was just entirely missing. He swiveled his head in Bilbo’s direction and caught sight of his car, and his face broke out in a wide grin. He turned around to yell behind him and Bilbo could barely hear his high voice above the din of excited students filling the front courtyard, but it sounded something like “found him!”

A few moments later Fíli emerged from the crowd, jacket removed and the sleeves of his white button up rolled up. They both approached the car and Bilbo got out, nervously buttoning up his sweater and smiling at the boys.

“Fíli, Kíli! Hi! How was your first day of school?”

“It was fun! I got a stamp for being good!” Kíli proudly showed off the back of his hand to Bilbo, upon which was a smeared purple likeness of a bear face.

Fíli simply shrugged in response, sliding his pack from his shoulders as he eyed Bilbo’s car. 

“This is your car? It’s small,” he commented, tone somewhat disinterested. 

“Well, it’s a good thing none of us are particularly big people, then, isn’t it? We don’t have your uncle Thorin with us, so I think we’ll all fit.”

Fíli smirked in response, snorting out a short laugh as he got into the car.

_ Note to self: Fíli responds well to jokes in which Thorin is the punchline.  _ He thought, smiling to himself as he helped Kíli into the backseat. 

Bilbo was much calmer on the drive back, listening to Kíli chattering about everything that had occurred during the day and Fíli occasionally pitching in a comment or two, but largely looking quietly out the window at the passing houses. Once they had arrived at the townhouse, both boys bounded inside and made a beeline for the kitchen. Bilbo chuckled and followed them through the halls, socked feet padding quietly on the polished hardwood floors.

When he entered the kitchen he was blown away immediately by the size of it, although he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. The ceilings stretched high, with exposed wooden beams, and the entirety of the room was done in a chic black and white design. The floors were a diamond-checkered pattern of black and white tile, and there was a long kitchen island made with white-painted wood, and a glossy black marble counter. Most of the cabinets were painted in the same ivory white color, with a black tile backsplash beneath. All of the appliances looked shining, new, and expensive. Once Bilbo had paused in his admiration of the room, he noticed Fíli and Kíli sitting at the island, devouring oreos and potato chips.

He tsked at the boys and walked over, plucking the bag of crisps away and promptly tossing one in his mouth.

“How about I make you two some  _ real  _ food for a snack so you aren’t nauseous in 15 minutes?”

“Oreos are real food!” Kíli protested as Bilbo slide the package from him, and Fíli glared in his direction. “We don’t want vegetables!”

“Who said anything about vegetables?” Bilbo said, eyes wide. “I was thinking about making some delicious grilled cheeses. Buuuut, if you’d rather  _ not  _ have a freshly made grilled cheese, I guess I understand…”

“I’ll take a grilled cheese,” Fíli muttered, huffing. “Our nannies usually don’t cook snacks for us in the afternoon.”

“Well then, don’t think of me as your nanny. Think of me as your cool tutor that makes you grilled cheeses. Plus, you need brain food before you start your homework, right? Now why don’t you and Kíli go grab as much cheese as you can carry from the fridge?”

Kíli’s eyes lit up at the challenge and he darted from his seat to the refrigerator. Fíli rolled his eyes and stood, but the corner of his mouth was curved upwards in a small smile.

Bilbo searched through the pristine cabinets, in awe at the even more pristine cookware, and pulled out a large frying pan and lid while Kíli and Fíli raided the fridge. Upon further searching of the cabinets, he found a golden loaf of bread wrapped in cellophane from a nearby bakery and cut it into thick slices and lathered them in butter. Kíli walked up to him with a veritable armful of cheese and Bilbo burst out laughing as pre-packaged slices cascaded onto the floor. 

“Just put those on the counter, little one. Thank you for your help! Now why don’t you both pick out which ones you want for your sandwiches?”

Bilbo began carefully stacking the cheeses Fíli and Kíli selected on the bread with precision. Fíli had moved to his side and was watching with thinly-veiled curiosity. 

“Hey Bilbo?” he asked, voice hesitant.

Bilbo turned to him, laying the final slice of cheese on the bread and transferring the sandwich halves to the hot, greased pan. “Yes?”

“Um...well, I was thinking, I barely have any homework...I just have to label the element groups which is super easy...and I thought maybe I could show you that book about Erebor.”

Fíli had a guarded and slightly nervous expression on his face, but his voice was earnest and Bilbo’s heart melted a little, his expression softening.

“Of course! I’m sure your homework will take no time at all, and then you can teach me all about Erebor. I really hardly know anything - so I need to learn from an expert.”

Fíli rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. He leaned against the counter, swiping up an extra piece of cheese and plopping it into his mouth. “I’m not an expert. But I do know a lot about it. I’ve spent a lot more time learning about Erebor’s history since we left.”

Bilbo nodded, expression neutral as he picked his words carefully. He turned to flip the sandwiches as he spoke. “I imagine, you must miss it quite a bit. I think striving to learn as much as you can about your homeland is a noble endeavor. And I dare say that here, in England, you are probably one of the closest things we have to an expert on Erebor. I think most here have never heard of it.”

Fíli’s face shone with pride. “Well, I  _ can  _ tell you all about it. There’s some things the book left out, but I’ve done my own research. I can teach you, if you want.”

“I’d like that very much,” Bilbo replied with a smile.

~

After they had finished eating (and Bilbo had cleaned up the mountain of cheese left behind) Bilbo helped Fíli and Kíli with their homework. There wasn’t much, as it was only the first day of school, but Kíli had a spelling assignment that he needed help with, while Fíli worked on memorizing a list of elements and their properties.

Bilbo patiently worked with the younger sibling as he slowly sounded out each word that he wrote in big, wobbly letters. Bilbo noticed that Kíli was prone to lapses in attention, but this could be amended with frequent, short breaks. He also noted that this had nothing to do with the boy’s work ethic - when he was focused, he was incredibly determined and it didn’t seem to affect him negatively when he made a mistake. He had a lot of potential as a student, he just needed the right environment and attention to stay on track.

Fíli hardly seemed to need any help at all, although his assignment was also short. He was filling out a blank periodic table, coloring in the far right column in blue to indicate noble gases. He labeled each in neat black print with the element symbol, atomic number, and group name. 

“Good grief,” Bilbo exclaimed, looking over to Fíli’s assignment as the other carefully began shading in a different group. “Do you need to fill out that entire table for homework? That’s a lot of work for the first day!”

Fíli glanced over and shrugged, returning to his handiwork. “Just the noble gases and halogens today. We’re generally going a section at a time, studying the properties of each elemental group and how they interact with each other. It’s year one stuff…”

“I don’t think so…” Kíli said, looking up skeptically and chewing on his pencil.

Bilbo chuckled. “It seems like you hardly need my help, you’re an expert on this too!”

“I don’t really need any help. Uncle Thorin just wants to make sure I get perfect grades and don’t slack off because that’s all he ever cares about,” Fíli mumbled, without looking up from his paper.

“Hmm. You know, I’m not so sure about that. I do think he wants to make sure you’re doing well in school, so you can get into a good university...but I think he also really cares about what  _ you  _ want to do. Though maybe he’s not so great at showing that, it seems?”

Fíli snorted, his tone bitter. “Yeah. Hardly.” he sighed, tossing his pen down. “I’m done. I suppose you could quiz me on the names? We’ll likely have a pop quiz at the end of the week.”

Bilbo did so, and Fíli recalled each name, symbol, and atomic number perfectly, save for a few which he got after another try. It was only 4:40; Bilbo’s itinerary in his contract stated that he was to work with the boys on homework or studying until 5:30, at which point they were allowed to do whatever they wanted until dinner. It was only the first day of school, though, and both boys had finished their assignments, there was no point in forcing them to study any longer.

“Do you wanna see that book now?” Fíli asked as he put away his homework.

“I’d love to!” Bilbo replied, smiling warmly. 

Fíli left the parlour and went upstairs to go fetch his book. When he returned he also had the book that Bilbo had loaned him back when he first came in to interview for the job. 

“I forgot I should return this to you. It was really interesting.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, “you read it all? It’s a big book!”

Fíli smiled, looking proud. “I’m a fast reader. Plus it was so fascinating! The...Chavín people? Is that the civilization you studied?”

“A little bit, yes! But more recently I had been studying the Moche. They’re another group of people from ancient Peru, but they were much bigger. An Empire,” Bilbo replied, pleased that Fíli had enjoyed the book and remembered so much about his career.

He got the distinct impression that people often underestimated the teen, at least in terms of how perceptive he was and how closely he was paying attention. He played the disinterested, apathetic role well - but he was a sharp and attentive individual with a quick wit and a remarkable memory.

Fíli settled in cross-legged on the carpet, flipping a large, hardcover book with a glossy dust jacket open. There was writing both in English and in a language that Bilbo didn’t recognize, with a mix of some roman alphabet and some very different, almost geometric symbols. He joined Fíli on the floor, and Kíli scooted over to peer at the book as well. 

“What is that language? I’ve never seen it before. It looks kind of like cyrillic, or something…” Bilbo asked, curious.

“That’s Ereborian,” Fíli said with pride. “I learned from this book that it is it’s own language group...there’s no other language like it. It comes from an ancient language, but we only know that from some of the symbols in the modern language. We have barely any examples of the ancient language and we don’t even know what it’s called.”

Bilbo was extremely impressed at how much Fíli knew, and felt his interest piqued. An ancient language that had yet to be deciphered? He was starting to understand why Gandalf was so interested in Erebor.

Fíli flipped through a few pages of the book and opened up to a page that was covered by a glossy photograph of a severe, dark peak jutting up into a pale blue sky, clouds hanging low against the dark jagged shapes of other mountains filling the background. It was breathtaking - it almost reminded Bilbo of the Andes, but the angles, the colors, everything was more severe. When he looked closely he saw that a steep and shallow set of stairs were carved into the rock, zig-zagging up the facade of the mountain, and leading to what looked like a clustered complex of dilapidated stone temples at the top of the peak. Bilbo could just barely make out rolling green hills at the foot of the mountain, and couldn’t imagine the trek one would have to make up those stairs to access the top.

“That’s the Lonely Mountain,” Fíli’s voice broke him from his reverie. “It’s one of the tallest mountains in the whole range, and the tallest one in this part of it. That temple on top is where they do a lot of archaeology. At least that’s what Uncle Thorin says. He won’t tell me a lot about what’s going on there.”

Bilbo’s interest was definitely piqued.

“Some ancient kings lived there, and they spoke ancient Ereborian. They were a really rich kingdom, and they had lots and lots of gold. Looters have stolen a lot of the artifacts over the years, but there are still a ton. Most are in museums now.”

Fíli turned the page, and sure enough, there were photographs of what looked like unimaginable caches of gold - coins, goblets, beads, tiaras, jewelry, and armor - all solid gold or gilded - were shown in a grainy photograph piled in a deep trench. There were accompanying drawings of many of the finer crafted metal bowls and goblets. It struck Bilbo that many of them were similar in form to ceramic vessels he had seen, but there didn’t appear to be any ceramic artifacts, only metallurgy. That was very odd indeed. 

Fíli continued to flip through the book and narrate its contents to Bilbo for the next half hour, and the latter was incredibly intrigued. He asked questions and Fíli answered as many as he could. Bilbo discovered that archaeological excavations of the Lonely Mountain had only begun very recently, in the last 50 years or so, because of the site’s inaccessibility, and the reluctance of the Ereborian government to fund such ventures. What little was known about this ancient kingdom seemed to be largely confined to that mountain. In the flatter parts of Erebor (of which there were few) excavations had been going on for nearly a century and a half of territory at one point occupied by Azerbaijan, and before that, the Ottomans, and farther back still, the Achaemenid Empire. The mountains, however, seemed to be of an entirely different ilk, and had developed cut off from the warfare and expansion.

Bilbo was admittedly intrigued more and more by everything he learned about Erebor and its history. He wondered if Ori, with his region of interest, had encountered any scholarship about the small country. He was pulled from his thoughts when Fili turned the page to a photograph of an odd, upside-down V-shaped stone arch, of sorts. The stone had been expertly hewn into two smooth posts with slanted ends. The ends were pushed up against each other to create a triangle, and it appeared to be free-standing. Bilbo was just about to ask Fíli if he knew anything about it when he heard the front door open. He could also hear two men speaking, one much louder than the other. Bilbo heard who he assumed was Bombur say something about starting dinner and then retreat to the kitchen where the sounds of pots and pans clinking began to filter through the townhouse. A few moments later Thorin materialized in the doorway, expression immediately softening as he noticed Fíli and Kíli sitting on the floor.

He began to walk up to the trio, and his eyes narrowed as he saw what they were looking at.

“Mr. Baggins, why aren’t Fíli and Kíli working on their homework?” he said quietly, but tensely in a voice that suggested Bilbo had better have a good answer.

“We finished it. A while ago. It’s only the first day of school, it’s not like we had essays to write,” Fíli chimed in before Bilbo could answer.

Thorin looked skeptical, but his lips twisted into a frown at Fíli’s tone, “Surely you had some studying you could-”

“We did that too.”

Bilbo noticed the challenging look Fíli was giving his uncle and decided to try to de-escalate the situation. 

“Ah - Thorin, they really did do all of their work. And studying. Fíli just really wanted to show me his book, like he promised. It was not their fault, I gave them permission.”

Thorin’s scowl receded a bit, but he still looked mildly disapproving as his gaze fell to the open book on the floor.

“Fíli was just explaining some Ereborian history to me, using this book as a guide. It’s really incredibly fascinating. The ruins and artifacts are magnificent...I enjoyed learning about it.”

Thorin walked up to the group and crouched next to Bilbo, silent as he scanned the page. Bilbo continued, encouraged by Thorin’s lack of negative reaction.

“These beautiful peaks,” he began, his finger trailing over the background in the photo on the open page, “remind me so much of the Andes, they make me homesick for it.”

Thorin turned his head to look at Bilbo and there was something in his eyes that Bilbo hadn’t seen before: a deep and longing sadness. Thorin was close, and those eyes bored into him and made his heart clench in his chest.

“Yes...they make me homesick as well,” he said quietly, turning away from Bilbo.

The latter tried his best to ignore the twinge in his chest, uneasy at the unexpected emotions. Fíli was silent too, glaring at the page in a way that indicated a storm of emotions must have been swirling inside of him.

“Fíli taught me a lot,” Bilbo began, breaking the tension. “I’m very intrigued. I thought I’d do some more serious research on the subject myself.”

He looked earnestly at Thorin, who met his eyes evenly, but Bilbo could see the sadness that lingered in them. It was fading, though, and something warm shone there too.

“I’m sure Fíli could teach you even more,” Thorin looked over at the teen, who looked over without expression, though his face was no longer taut with anger. “I’m...glad to hear you’re interested in Erebor. It’s a lovely place. It has its...flaws, and complications....but it’s home. And it’s unlike any other place on Earth.”

The last statement was directed at Bilbo, who felt pinned in place by that intense gaze full of conviction that bored, it seemed, deep into his chest. Thorin wasn’t someone who did anything in half-measures, including speaking, and feeling…

Bilbo nodded, swallowing at his suddenly dry mouth. Thorin was still crouched, a shadow over Bilbo’s cross-legged form, and was very close.

“Of course. I understand how important home is. Truly.” Bilbo said, sticking his chin out and speaking with as much conviction as he could muster.

In a rare turn of circumstances, Thorin looked pleased by Bilbo’s answer, which filled the latter with an unreasonable amount of pride, and pleasure. The warmth in those eyes had increased, cold solid steel melting into liquid. It was unfair, really. Both to Bilbo, who couldn’t imagine what it was like to have eyes that beautiful, and unfair to Thorin as well - whose brooding and unaffected exterior was given away by the emotional barometer of his eyes. 

It was a few moments later in this long gaze that the two held when Bilbo realized that Fíli had taken the book and moved to the couch on the other side of the room, his nose buried deep in the pages. Kíli was nowhere to be seen, though the unmistakable sound of socked feet running down a hallway reverberated throughout the building. Bilbo cleared his throat and began to get up, face heating slightly in embarrassment. 

Thorin also stood, curiously avoiding Bilbo’s gaze when he looked over. 

“Well. Bombur just arrived, so dinner will be served soon.You can head home now. Unless, you’d like to stay for dinner. You’d...you’d be welcome. To stay.” Thorin seemed somewhat uncomfortable, and Bilbo worried Thorin might have felt obligated to invite him, against his own wishes.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose, really,” he began.

Just then, Fíli loudly closed the book he was reading, and Bilbo looked over to see that he was looking at his uncle with a slightly confused expression. Eventually he shook his head and looked over at Bilbo.

“You should stay, Bilbo. Bombur makes great food. And you can tell us more about your archaeologist work,” he said matter of factly, as if it were the most logical conclusion in the world.

Bilbo smiled, and faked a dramatic sigh. “Well, I suppose you’ve pulled my leg. As long as your uncle doesn’t mind.”

“Of course,” Thorin offered sheepishly, then cleared his throat and with a nod, and made a somewhat hasty retreat from the room, muttering about finishing some work.

After watching him leave Bilbo turned to Fíli and shrugged, sticking his lips out overdramatically, eyes wide, and Fíli cackled in response.

~

About an hour later, they were all seated around the dinner table, and Bofur was ladeling a thick, savory sauce over roasted potatoes and asparagus on each person’s plate. The cook explained to Bilbo with a wink that it was a popular Ereborian dish, and a good hearty meal for the cold winter months. It was delicious.

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Thorin surprised Bilbo by speaking first.

“So, Bombur noticed that there was a pan in the dishwasher, did you make food for the boys this afternoon?” 

Thorin’s tone wasn’t angry, but the other didn’t look up from his food as he spoke, so Bilbo answered cautiously.

“Oh, yes. Well, they were both really hungry after school, and I wanted them to have a decent snack, nothing too sugary or unhealthy. Kids need brain food for homework, after all.”

“Bilbo is the king of grilled cheeses, Uncle Thorin! He made mine with four different cheeses!” Kili exclaimed in support of Bilbo, and Fíli nodded in agreement as he chewed.

To his delight, Thorin actually smiled, a small smirk that filled Bilbo with relief. He turned to Bilbo and the small smile remained.

“You didn’t have to do that. I will always let you know on days you need to arrange a meal for the boys. But...thank you. I appreciate that you did.”

Bilbo’s lips twitched as he fought a large grin from spreading on his face at the praise. He smiled and nodded, looking down. 

“Oh, it was nothing at all. My mum always used to say, ‘can’t think on an empty stomach,’ and she would have known, teaching primary school,” he said, chuckling.

“Your mum was a teacher?” Fíli asked through a mouthful of food.

“Yes, she was a fantastic teacher. For me, too. I swear I never would have understood half of my homework without her help. She knew so much about so many things - English, science, math, geography...she was the one who inspired me to try teaching for the first time.”

“She sounds like she was very smart,” Thorin offered.

“She was, incredibly,” Bilbo nodded, his heart filling as he recalled his mother. “But most importantly, she was incredibly patient and kind. So kind to everyone she met, and no problem was too big or too much to help someone with.”

“She sounds like you,” Kíli said, and Bilbo couldn’t say why, but it felt like a stab in the heart.

He blinked a few times, swallowed, and then smiled shakily, looking down at his food.

“Thank you, Kíli. I hope so. I try to live how she would have,” he said finally, avoiding looking directly at anyone seated at the table.

He knew it had been three years and he shouldn’t still react this way to such innocuous comments, but every now and then someone would say something, memories of her would come rushing back in, and he would be momentarily debilitated by the grief that washed over him like a tidal wave.

“Did you always want to teach?” Thorin asked, and it surprised Bilbo when he looked up and saw not just Thorin’s eyes but his entire expression was soft, understanding.

“No, actually,” Bilbo said, grateful for the out on that particular comment. “I wanted to be an explorer when I was kid. Explore all the jungles and deserts of the world, the deepest caves and the darkest oceans. I found out later that archaeology would be a good field for me. But I always had this dream of going to live deep in the jungle, amongst all the plants, and build a little home there, full of green. My mum always had plants around, it was like a little jungle in our home.”

Bilbo smiled as he reminisced, and a slow smile spread across Thorin’s face as the other spoke. 

“Is that why you bought plants before furniture?” he asked in an even tone, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. 

“I told you, I already bought furniture! And as a matter of fact, it is,” he answered, his tone playful. His expression softened and he continued, “She always took such good care of all of them. That pothos that I have in the apartment was hers - well, specifically, from a cutting of her pothos. So if you think about it that way, the plant is almost 20 years old. Older than you two.”

Bilbo pointed at both Fíli and Kíli with mock seriousness. Kíli’s eyes were wide, and Fíli snorted in response. 

“She really taught me to value and appreciate nature. She was a woman with a lot of morals, and a lot of bravery.”

“It seems she passed that on to you, too,” Thorin said.

Bilbo flushed, meeting Thorin’s eyes. He had always had a bit of trouble taking a compliment, especially from someone as unnerving as Thorin.

“Was she strong-willed, too?” he asked casually, taking a bite of food but looking up to catch Bilbo’s reaction.

The flush on Bilbo’s face deepened.

“Oh, you’re implying that I am?” he asked, a little indignant but mostly responding to the tease in kind.

“Well...I’m just thinking of when we first met, and you didn’t react too well to some of my questions-”

“That was funny,” Fíli chimed in from across the table. “Bilbo schooled you on chemistry.”

Thorin scowled, though he seemed still in good spirits. “Will I never hear the end of that?”

“You brought it up,” Bilbo said quietly, quickly hiding his smile behind his drink as Thorin looked over at him with narrowed eyes.

“I see, now both you  _ and  _ my nephews are teaming up on me.”

“You’re just an easy target,” Bilbo said casually, toeing the line. 

To his delight, the color in Thorin’s cheeks and the tips of his ears reddened. Bilbo felt something flutter in his stomach and he pressed on, more confident.

“Oh, no I’m sorry, you’re very tough and scary and we’re definitely not plotting against you, right boys?” Bilbo said in a mock serious tone, winking over-dramatically at Fíli and Kíli.

Kíli cackled in delight and Fíli rolled his eyes, fighting a smile. 

The sound of a throat clearing made Thorin and Bilbo turn from where they had been staring at each other, and Bombur stood in the doorway, his eyes dancing with amusement and a grin on his face.

“I’m heading home, sir. I’ll give the little lady your love,” he said to Thorin, and latter nodded. “Keep him in line, Bilbo.”

Bombur winked at Bilbo and slipped backwards out the door before he could respond. His mouth was slightly ajar, and his gaze slipped over to Thorin, who was covering his eyes with his palm and shaking his head, his cheeks still dusted with pink. Bilbo decided, a bit guiltily, that embarrassed Thorin might have been his favorite Thorin.

Once they had finished the rest of their meal, chatting amicably about some of the dig sites Bilbo had worked on and what projects Thorin was involved in at work, Bilbo wished the boys and Thorin a good night and headed to his car.

As he drove the short distance home his mind raced with thoughts of everything that had occurred over the last few days. Moving into the apartment, getting back in touch with Ori, starting his new job...it should have all been overwhelming to him, having had such an unchanged routine for so many years, but it felt invigorating. He felt a sense of something bright in his future, for the first time in a long time. Seeing the pictures of Erebor had only increased his desire to learn more about the country, and the more he learned the more excited he grew at the prospect of getting to excavate there. He let his mind wander and imagined traveling to the remote country, perhaps staying with Thorin and Fíli and Kíli in some illustrious building with a balcony overlooking the amazing mountain range. He thought about walking through the capital city with them, the unfamiliar sun warming his skin.

And if Thorin was by his side in each of these fantasies, smiling down at him with liquid eyes, speaking to him with his sly quips, reserved for Bilbo alone, well, no one needed to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took a while! So much happened in this chapter! I've outlined all of what I'm calling "Act One" of this story and it's looking this this boi is gonna be a 100k. /dies
> 
> Please comment / bookmark if you liked, I love hearing feedback <3


	6. Chapter V

A few weeks had gone by since Bilbo had started working as tutor and nanny to Fíli and Kíli, and the workload for both boys was starting to pick up quite a bit. In addition to helping them with their homework, Bilbo was also now giving each of them individual tutoring sessions on material that had either been covered in class that they didn’t understand, or material in the textbooks not included in class lessons. Both of them had started out remarkably patient in the first week or so regarding all of the extra lessons and work, but Bilbo could tell that they were getting restless, and Fíli in particular clearly fostered some resentment towards Thorin at having to do so much work. Neither child seemed to have any very good friends - Kíli occasionally mentioned a few names of people he had played with during recess, but Fíli was very close-lipped. Neither boy ever asked to go over to someone else’s house, or have someone come over to the Durins’. Regardless, they still seemed antsy for more free time as the school year progressed.

It was for this reason that Bilbo decided to start taking the boys on walks for parts of their lessons. They would practice spelling, Bilbo would quiz them on various subjects that they were studying, and it was a designated time for either Fíli or Kíli to ask him any question they were curious about (within their study material) and Bilbo would do his best to answer at length, in detail. Both boys responded extremely well to this new method of tutoring, and though they didn’t always cover as much ground as they did in his normal lessons, Bilbo believed that it was doing both Fíli and Kíli a world of good, and that they were retaining more information than they had been before. 

He had decided, for the time being, not to tell Thorin about these little excursions. It wasn’t that the brothers weren’t ever allowed to leave the house, but Bilbo had a feeling that Thorin wouldn’t see the value of these lessons, and it was one headache of an argument he wanted to avoid. He also didn’t want to jeopardize the progress he’d made in his...friendship with the closed-off man.

Over the past few weeks Bilbo had only seen Thorin every other day or so, and sometimes not until the boys had been put to bed. Nonetheless, Thorin seemed to grow a little warmer, and a little more relaxed with each of their meetings. Bilbo gently pushed the boundaries of his tolerance with teasing and joking, and generally his quips were taken with good humor, and the semi-frequent coloring of Thorin’s high, sculpted cheeks, which brought Bilbo an immeasurable sense of glee. Even more intriguing, Thorin had, of late, begun to tease Bilbo here and there with his own jokes. Bilbo had not gotten it the first couple of times - Thorin’s sense of humor was incredibly dry - but he felt somewhat privileged to be on the end of those jokes, now.

Bilbo found himself always anticipating Thorin’s arrival - at the sound of the door he would perk up from whatever he was doing and excitement would bubble inside of him. He was frequently disappointed when it turned out to be Bombur arriving to make dinner, or Dís coming to relieve him from his duty, though he liked both well enough and had pleasant conversations with them as well. He continued to try to convince himself that it really didn’t mean anything, and that he was just excited about making a new friend out of a tough nut to crack, but he knew deep down that no one got this excited about seeing their boss. And people usually weren’t this close with their boss. And...he _assumed_ that people usually weren’t this physically attracted to their bosses.

He could feel the familiar warmth pooling in his stomach, the taut, breathless feeling inside his chest, every time Thorin walked through the door, or chuckled at one of his jokes, or flashed him a rare smile. Bilbo felt that he was often on a mission to draw out those smiles and laughs, that they were like a precious stone, a prize that he won for entertaining Thorin. A little part of the back of his mind was shaking its head in perpetuity at him nipping like a puppy dog at Thorin’s heels, constantly trying to impress the other man, make him laugh, make him smile. He kind of felt like a teenager all over again. He’d think he wasn’t being too obvious, but then his gaze would slide over to Dís, on those rare occasions where she and Thorin were home at the same time, and she would be wearing a knowing smirk on her face.

He knew there was no chance, no way that something could happen between them...it was a terrible idea in any case, with Thorin being both his employer and related to the kids he was taking care of, not to mention his potential foot in the door in terms of working in Ereborian archaeology...But there was something in Thorin’s reactions that always made him want to press a little bit more, ask a more personal question, lean in a little closer. The man still constantly gave Bilbo the impression that he was leaving so much unsaid, words at the tip of his tongue going unspoken. And this was still the case, despite how much Thorin had warmed up to him and spoke to him now. There was always something a bit guarded about him, but the more Bilbo spoke to him, the more he sensed that Thorin _wanted_ Bilbo to know, but didn’t know how to express it, or if he should.

Bilbo had never been very good at telling when someone was interested in him romantically. He usually just toed the line, with flirting that could be mistaken for friendly teasing until he was sure the other person reciprocated his feelings. He had found this step especially important with other men, particularly having grown up in Hobbiton where flirting with the wrong guy could be dangerous. With Thorin, he really, honestly couldn’t tell. Normally, the other man’s acceptance and occasional rebuttals to his quips, along with his tendency to flush pink at some of Bilbo’s teasing and compliments would have been signs of attraction, but Thorin was difficult to read, even now. The whole situation was like some sort of challenge for Bilbo, no doubt one that he should drop, but it filled him with the sort of elicit excitement one could only ever really experience from flirting with someone whom they really, _really_ shouldn’t. 

It was exactly that feeling of excitement - one that came with the possibility of getting caught - that led Bilbo’s mind to start conjuring up fantasies during his waking hours involving Thorin. They started out tame enough, just little ‘what if’ scenarios where Bilbo pictured what would happen if he held Thorin’s gaze a little longer, or if they had some time alone again, or if he reached out and touched him on the arm. Those fantasies evolved into longer and more detailed fantasies. It got to the point where Bilbo would find himself zoning out while helping the boys with their homework, imagining how Thorin would react if he reached out and brushed his hair behind his ear; and how would it feel to hug him? All of that solid muscle, but he looked a little squishy in the middle too, like he would give amazing, soft but totally encasing hugs. Bilbo wondered how his hands would feel - rough and calloused, on his arm trailing up the bare skin of his shoulder…

But he would always try to stop himself there. He felt embarrassed, almost as if he’d caught himself doing something that he shouldn’t every time his thoughts lingered on Thorin for too long. He knew what he was feeling must have been a result of his new situation, such a drastic change from his life over the past three years. It wasn’t anything serious, and he was sure he would get over it soon enough.

~

Bilbo nestled his chin down into the cradle of his warm woolen scarf, hunching his shoulders against the cool, late autumn breeze as he hastened down the sidewalk. It was getting colder and colder every day, and Bilbo wasn’t a big fan of the constant onslaught of freezing rain that had been drenching London for the past few weeks. There was a break in the downpour now, but it was still drizzling and there was a chill to the air that seemed to claw at his skin where it was exposed. He hurried his pace, looking for the familiar sign of the coffeeshop where he and Ori used to meet.

Bilbo and Ori had had a brief reunion about two weeks before shortly after Bilbo gotten in touch with his friend. Ori had some last minute work pop up, so their meeting had been short. Mostly they had hugged a lot, Bilbo had apologized a million times, Ori had firmly told him to shut up (with love) and they filled each other in over a quick coffee in the library on their lives before Ori had had to run off to office hours. 

They were having a proper lunch date now, and Bilbo was excited to have an in-depth conversation with his friend and take more time to catch up. He had felt lonely over the past few years, but he didn’t realize how desperately he missed having a friend, one that already understood his traumas and his faults, that he didn’t need to pretend to be anyone but himself with. 

He spied the white, scalloped awning with a little patio and chairs and tables - currently sitting drenched and forlorn for the season - and sighed in relief, pushing the door open and reveling in the burst of warm air that blasted his face. He began to unwind his scarf with stiff, cold fingers when he heard a voice call his name from across the room. He looked over and saw Ori seated with a book and a steaming cup of coffee in a cozy little alcove in the back corner of the shop.

Bilbo smiled and waved, and crossed the room to sit down across from his friend. The latter jumped up and enveloped him in a tight hug before he could take his seat. He chuckled in surprise, and wrapped his arms around Ori, squeezing back. It was amazing how much a hug could do.

Once the two had settled back down into their seats and Bilbo had begun to peel off his layers, Ori looked down at his latte and then sheepishly back up at Bilbo.

“Sorry, Bilbo. I’m consistently under-caffeinated, I couldn’t wait…”

Bilbo chuckled in response. “Oh, it’s fine. I don’t mind. I would never stand between you and your coffee!”

Ori beamed and took a deep gulp from the still steaming cup. Bilbo looked up at the chalkboard with menu items scrawled on it hung above the register. Back when he used to come here all the time he just got something with as much espresso as the baristas were willing to dispense, but having a bit more human of a schedule, he really just wanted something to thoroughly warm him up.

“Besides, you don’t want to wait up for me, I’m apparently perpetually late,” he mumbled absently as he perused the menu.

“Oh?” Ori inquired, setting down his drink, finally. “You in trouble with the boss?”

“Oh, no. It’s just,” Bilbo sighed, rolling his eyes and fighting a smile. “I was late to our very first meeting, my interview, and Thorin’s always taking the mickey out of me for it, won’t ever let it go…”

“Ooh, first name basis, huh?” Ori bounced his eyebrows at Bilbo over the rim of his mug.

Bilbo rolled his eyes but panicked just a little internally, he had forgotten how good Ori was at reading him.

“But on a serious note, how is that job going? Is your boss okay to work with, actually? I know you had mentioned he was a little scary last time we chatted.”

“It’s actually going amazingly,” Bilbo replied, looking at Ori earnestly. “Really. I’m loving working with these kids one on one, they’re smart and creative and curious. It’s great. And actually, I really don’t see Thorin that often, and he is not at all as bad as I initially thought.”

Bilbo paused, clearing his throat.

“He’s...a closed-off person and quite intimidating, for sure, but he cares very deeply about his nephews and it’s often in their defense. He’s started to warm up to me, though. He doesn’t scare me anymore,” he added with a laugh, slightly nervous at the rapt attention Ori was paying to him.

“He is still bloody annoying at times. He’s so gruff and brooding, like some sort of airport romance novel lead. And he can be so argumentative about things. I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to implement the smallest changes to the boys’ curriculums. But I know he’s just protective of them, even though he’s only their uncle...he’s sort of taken over the role of father for them. He can be so closed-off, and cold, sometimes. But he can also be incredibly kind...and sometimes a little sweet.”

Bilbo stopped, looking sheepish when he realized he had just sort of gone off on a tirade about Thorin. Ori giggled behind his hand and took another sip of coffee before he spoke.

“Brooding and sensitive? That’s your type to a T, mate.”

“Wh-what! No it’s not. I date all types.”

“But your _fantasy_ type, the kind of guy you always get a crush on,” Ori leaned forward and eyed the room conspiratorially before continuing in a hushed tone. “Remember Professor Bard?”

Bilbo’s face turned red and he avoided Ori’s gaze.

“Oh, that was once.”

“You were obsessed with him for almost a full year!”

“I was not.”

“You were too! Don’t make me pull out the old chat conversations! I have many, many emojis that prove otherwise.”

“Ugh, Ori. Can we not bring up my questionable romantic past, please?”

“Okay, okay. We’ll focus on your questionable romantic present.”

Bilbo groaned and tossed his scarf at Ori’s face.

“So what’s he look like then? Surely not tall, dark and brooding with long, dark hair and soulful eyes?”

Bilbo leveled Ori with a glare and crossed his arms, remaining silent even as he felt heat rise in his face. Ori’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in an expression of glee.

“Oh my God, are you having a laugh? He really does look like that, doesn’t he? Oh, that is too much. That’s brilliant.”

“I’m going to go get a drink now,” Bilbo sighed, face hot as he stood from his chair and went up to the counter.

He felt Ori at his side as he attempted to read the menu and ignore his friend. The latter was respectfully quiet as he ordered a maple tea latte with steamed milk, but he could feel Ori’s energy barely contained and knew he would be barraged with questions once they were out of earshot of the barista. He thanked the stars that at the very least, his friend had the sensitivity to not loudly talk about Bilbo’s crushes in a public place.

When they returned to their seats, that was precisely what he did.

“Well, then, I was just kidding about you and your boss, but you really have a thing for him, don’t you? Don’t deny it, I saw how red your face got. Like a tomato. It’s cute,” Ori snickered.

Bilbo sighed in exasperation, burying his face in his hands.

“Okay, fine. Yes. Are you happy? I am the slightest bit attracted to my boss. It happens. People are attractive, and the world is unfair.” he took a gulp of his latte, wincing as the hot liquid scalded his mouth.

“Mmm, it sounds to me like you’re more than a little attracted to him! You just waxed poetic about his stubborn, charming, kind, sensitive personality for like, _ever._ ”

“I did not.”

“You did! I was here!”

Bilbo glared at his friend, but without much malice.

“I had forgotten how much you like to debate everything.”

“Always a philosophy major at heart, I suppose.” Ori shrugged, grinning.

Bilbo felt a surge of affection for his friend, as annoying as he was currently being, and his will to keep denying things to both himself and Ori waning. He rested his chin on his hand, his elbow propped on the table and the other hand fiddling with the handle of his mug. His eyes were cast down, he felt a little embarrassed. 

“I suppose I...I may be in a little deep. I’ve been thinking about him...a lot. Recently. But, it’s not really serious, I mean I know nothing can happen. Nothing should.”

Ori’s expression softened as he listened to Bilbo, then he looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I mean would it be _so_ bad? Of course if things crash and burn that would not be great, but...this is just sort of a stopgap for you, I thought. And he is your employer, I suppose, but it’s not a typical situation, that.”

Bilbo eyed Ori suspiciously.

“Are you encouraging me to go for this? You’re supposed to be telling me what a bad idea it would be! Remember that he could be my foot in the door to working in Erebor.”

Ori rolled his eyes before speaking. “Oh, please, any relationship can be a bad idea. And yes, it is important to remember that he’s your connection in that sense, though it’s not like he’s going to be working with or above you in the field, he’s not an archaeologist. And of course it could all blow up in your face like any other relationship.”

Ori paused, throwing his cup back to consume the dregs of his latte which he had finished alarmingly quickly, “But it’s certainly a better idea than a relationship with Professor Bard would have been.”

“Oh my gooood would you let that go!” Bilbo groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

“I’m serious though! This is an infinitely better relationship idea for you!” Ori insisted, putting a hand on Bilbo’s. “Now, the important question, is _he_ interested?”

Bilbo shrugged helplessly. “I really cannot tell at all. I have no sodding clue. I mean, he seems like a very, I dunno, gruff manly man at first, but he’s actually quite sensitive, and I think a lot of that standoffishness is just a result of his inability to communicate well, he really needs to work on that…”

Bilbo paused and chewed his lip as he thought. 

“He does joke with me, and when I tease him him he usually doesn’t glare anymore. He does get sort of, I dunno...bashful, blushy a bit? When I tease him, but he does that when he sister makes fun of him too. He’s pretty curt when he’s texting me, but I think that’s just how he texts -”

“Woah, you text each other? Like, regularly?” Ori interrupted, looking incredulous. “Also what was that about blushing?”

“Well, not that regularly, just, he lets me know when he’ll be coming back to the house...So that I can go _home!”_ he added hastily when Ori opened his mouth to speak again. “And he’s texted me a few times to make sure I made it back safe, from London to Hobbiton. And er...before he brought over some lesson plans and stuff to my apartment.”

Ori’s eyebrows were raised and he looked like he might burst.

“Alright then, say it,” Bilbo relented with a sigh.

“Okay so he texts you constantly-”

“I wouldn’t say constantly-”

“He texts you _often,”_ Ori pushed on, undeterred. “Both to ask you if you got home safe, and to tell you when he’s coming home, he jokes with and teases you, he blushes when you tease _him..._ what am I missing, here?”

Ori articulated each point with a raised finger. He seemed exasperated, and though there were stirrings of hope that rose in Bilbo’s chest at his friend’s words, he wasn’t wholly convinced.

“Look, I know it probably sounds like...he’s just, a difficult person to describe. It’s Thorin, I don’t know how to explain it. He’s just a bit of an awkward soul sometimes. But he’s sweet. I do think the gruff attitude is kind of just for show...but I think he can be affectionate towards anyone he trusts.”

Ori shrugged, and looked up at the menu.

“I just think you’re ignoring some obvious signs. And honestly, Bilbo, don’t you deserve a good romance? After all you’ve been through? This might be nice for you,” he said, voice softening.

Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit anxious. 

“I...I dunno if it’s a good idea. Anyway, I don’t really wanna think about it anymore. How about some food?”

Ori nodded, his eyes full of understanding. Bilbo had always valued Ori’s ability to read his moods, even if it meant there was no keeping secrets from him. He could always depend on his friend to know when things were getting to be too much for Bilbo.

“Some food sounds lovely. And then I can get some more coffee.”

“Good lord, Ori, you just finished a latte in 15 minutes flat.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Bilbo! I’ve got so many papers to grade!” Ori faked a sob and then laughed as the two went up to the counter to order.

“And now I want to hear all about Erebor! I’ve heard a little about it, but it’s so exciting that you’ll be excavating there!”

Bilbo filled in Ori on everything he had learned about Erebor over the last month or so, and where most of the leading archaeological fieldwork was being done. They spoke excitedly about the culture, Bilbo relaying what he knew and Ori firing off curious question after question as they gulped down sandwiches and chips and coffee.

Bilbo was overjoyed to not only get to spend time with his old friend again, but to get to talk about archaeology to someone else who knew what he was talking about. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed conversing with colleagues about the field. It was often a great opportunity for him to hear other perspectives on his research and ideas, and reveal things he’d missed. As a matter of fact, when he off-handedly mentioned the old photograph of the smooth-carved rock structure, shaped like an upside-down V, Ori had immediately asked if he knew if it was some sort of celestially-oriented megalith. He hadn’t even considered it, but practically every monumental stone temple he’d studied in ancient mesoAmerica, and South America, for that matter, had some sort of stone construction that aligned with the sun during solstices, equinoxes, or other times of the year. He tucked that thought away in the back of his mind for the time being and told himself to read that page in Fíli’s book more closely the next time he was at the Durins’ place.

After about an hour of excited conversation back and forth about Erebor, Bilbo realized he had barely heard anything about how Ori’s life was going. As they shifted gears in their conversation, Bilbo’s mind couldn’t help but linger on what his friend had said before they started talking about Erebor. He listened to Ori and was happy to hear about how things were going with his old friend, but the words nagged at the back of his mind. Maybe Thorin did act in ways that were a little strange for a platonic relationship, and maybe it wasn’t just because of his little idiosyncracies. Why should Bilbo care so much? Why did it fill his chest with a hopeful longing so briefly overpowering that it alarmed him? 

No. It was just a crush, and it would pass. He was being silly, he decided. The pressure of the job and the new situation were just getting to him. He appreciated Ori’s advice, but this was just too difficult of a situation to explain properly, so he wouldn’t understand.

Bilbo and Ori finally parted after another hour of conversation. The latter had papers to grade, and hugged Bilbo once more, wishing him well and vowing to hang out again soon. Bilbo waved goodbye to him as he rushed out of the cafe, and slowly trudged outside and back to his apartment through the increasingly heavy rainfall.

~

The next day was a Monday, and just as dreary as the day before. It was foggy and cold when Bilbo awoke, and the rain materialized in heavier drops as the day went on. He rolled out of bed at 11 AM and fixed himself a full french-press of coffee, which he drank over the course of the next few hours between nibbles of toast and fruit. This kind of weather sucked the energy right out of him, and he longed for the warmer and (occasionally) sunnier days of the summer. 

He opened the fridge after he had finished the coffee, contemplating eating a full meal, but saw that his supplies were severely lacking. He checked the digital clock on the microwave, saw that it was only 1:05, and decided that he had some time to pop down to the grocery store and buy a few things. He dressed quickly in a t-shirt, hoodie, and jeans, and headed down to the parking lot.

When he put the key into the ignition the engine turned over weakly a few times, and then made an alarming rattling, clicking noise and sputtered out. Bilbo’s heart sank as he tried again and the engine sputtered before falling silent once more. He thought that maybe the battery had died for some reason, but he hadn’t left the lights on or the battery running at all, and the noises it was making were a little different than those it would usually make if it just needed a jump. Bilbo felt despair weigh heavy on him. He had absolutely no knowledge of cars, and he had to pick up the boys in just a few hours! How would he do so without a car? And how was he going to get his car to a mechanic? There was no way he could ask Thorin or Dís to come home from either of their jobs early, they were incredibly busy and if he couldn’t do his job…

Bilbo groaned in frustration, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel. He was grateful to his mum for leaving him her car, and it wasn’t like he could afford another one, even used, but this old thing was not suited for driving around London regularly. It was a relic, and one he was surprised had taken this long to break down.

He tried to take several calming breaths, and pulled out his phone, unsure of what to do. After a few moments he decided that he should text Thorin, but came up with some alternatives so that he would have to leave work early. His stomach churned as he typed out the message.

“Hi Thorin...I’ve just discovered that my car won’t start this morning, and is stuck in the parking lot. I think it needs more than just a jump, but once I get one I should be able to take it to a mechanic. I was just going to order a taxi to pick up the boys and take them back. I will of course be going along. Let me know your thoughts, and sorry for the bother!”

Bilbo released a long sigh and his head fell back against the headrest. Today was shaping up to be as crappy as the weather.

After a few minutes with no response Bilbo decided to head back upstairs into his warm apartment, since his fingers were turning icy from sitting in the cold car. He sat at the table in front of his bay window and watched the rain run down the glass, checking his phone every minute or so, though he knew he would have felt the vibration. It was now 1:30, and Bilbo was becoming increasingly anxious about the whole situation. Maybe he should call Ori for some advice? He didn’t want to bother his friend, it was a weekday so he’d surely be busy with work or in class. He contemplated calling Thorin but was extremely hesitant about bothering him during his work day. He probably wouldn’t be angry _with_ Bilbo, and he would likely not be pleased to be interrupted from his work with a phone call with bad news.

Just when Bilbo was beginning to unravel with worry, his phone buzzed in his hand. He hastily unlocked it and read the reply from Thorin.

“Sorry about the car. I have a friend I can call to fix it. Don’t call taxi - I’ll get Bombur 2 give u a ride.”

Bilbo released a ragged sigh of relief, raking his hand through his hair as he reread the message a few times. He had hoped that Thorin’s reply might give him some inkling as to the latter’s feelings about the situation, but he should’ve known that his texts would be as blunt and unemotional as usual.

He typed out a message slowly, and then backspaced, thinking. He started another message and got only about five words in before he erased the entire thing. He couldn’t remember if Thorin had an iphone or not, but sincerely hoped that he didn’t so that he wouldn’t see Bilbo alternating between typing and pausing repeatedly over the past few minutes.

As he was trying to decide once again how to formulate his reply, another message from Thorin came in, surprising him.

“Will be home pretty late tonight, sorry. Will try to keep u updated. Happy to give u a ride home.”

Bilbo’s lips twitched into a smile, despite the general crappiness of the day and his sullen mood since awakening. He appreciated that Thorin gave him updates on when he’d be there. He knew that he didn’t have to, but it was a nice gesture. Unbidden, thoughts of his conversation with Ori from the previous day flooded his mind.

_“He texts you often. Both to ask you if you got home safe, and to tell you when he’s coming home, he jokes with and teases you, he blushes when you tease him...what am I missing, here?”_

Ori’s voice echoed through his mind as he continued to stare at Thorin’s text. That familiar, overwhelming feeling of hope and joy began to swell in his chest once more and he wanted to shut it down, stomp it out, but he couldn’t. It was nice to feel so happy about something. Shaking his head and trying to supress the goofy smile that was pulling at his lips, Bilbo finally composed a reply. He thanked Thorin both for getting someone to look at his car, and for reaching out to Bombur. He let him know that he would make sure the boys ate dinner and went to bed on time, and he would see Thorin when he got home.

He didn’t know why he had been so worried about Thorin’s reaction; he knew the man well enough now to know that he wouldn’t just blow up on Bilbo over something like this that wasn’t his fault. He supposed he was just worried about disappointing Thorin, or really letting him down in any way. He knew it was absurd, but he seemed to have an inordinate desire to make the other man happy.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when his phone buzzed once more. Thorin had simply sent a “thumbs up” emoji in response to Bilbo’s slightly long-winded text. Bilbo couldn’t help but burst out laughing, a joyous sound that echoed throughout the high ceilings of his apartment. He would have to remember to tease Thorin later for texting like a grandfather.

~

Bilbo had been going over Fíli’s lesson plans for the week at his kitchen table when he heard a horn blaring directly beneath him on the street below. He leaned over the table to glare down at whoever had made the noise, and was surprised to see a mane of bright red hair leaning out the driver’s side window of a little red car, a pale hand waving at him.

“Oh, shit!” Bilbo exclaimed, waving frantically at the driver below and gathering up the papers spread all over his table as swiftly as he could. 

He hadn’t been keeping track of the time, and wasn’t sure if he should be expecting a text or call from Bombur. Evidently the cook had simply decided to show up when it was time to go. Ereborians seemed to be relatively direct in that manner.

Bilbo threw on a cozy brown cardigan over the thin white button down he had changed into after abandoning his plans for grocery shopping, and only at the last minute remembered to grab an umbrella before he dashed out the door into the steadily falling rain and gloom.

He slipped inside the car quickly and smiled gratefully at Bombur.

“Thank you so much for the ride, Bombur! Sorry to pull you away from your home on a day like this!”

“Oh, it was no bother at all, Mr. Baggins!” Bombur said in his booming voice, all the louder in the small space of the car. “Mr. Durin told me to make sure you didn’t get stranded out here in all this gloom.”

He was smiling as he spoke, and there was something almost conspiratorial in his tone, but Bilbo thought he might’ve been imagining it.

“Well, I offered to call a cab, I didn’t want anyone to have to go out of their way to drive me,” Bilbo said, brushing his unruly curls into place with his fingers. “He dismissed the idea out of hand, though.”

Bombur chuckled. “Yes. Thorin can be a bit...hmm. Particular about these things, should I say? He’s not one for taxis. But I think in this case, he just wants to make sure that the boys are always with someone that he trusts. Hence, your job,” Bombur explained, gesturing to Bilbo. “He may seem overprotective with Fíli and Kíli, but trust me, he has his reasons.”

Bombur cut himself off, ending somewhat cryptically, and Bilbo couldn’t help but think that it perhaps had something to do with what Gandalf had told him about the family and why they had decided to leave Erebor in the first place. He couldn’t deny that he was incredibly curious, and Bombur seemed like someone friendly enough to ask without pushing the wrong button and causing a bad reaction like he had accidentally done a few times with Thorin. He looked down at his hands contemplatively for a moment, deciding how to phrase his question, before he spoke.

“Yes...I don’t know much, but it seems that the boys really miss Erebor, and maybe don’t completely understand why they had to leave.”

Bilbo was testing the waters with Bombur, whose smiling expression faltered for a minute.

“Aye...they don’t, not entirely,” he said, finally, with a sigh. “There are...certain dangers, in Erebor, that Thorin wants to keep Fíli and Kíli away from at all cost. Some of the danger is real, for certain, but some of it may be...a bit more perceived, by Thorin. He’s wary.’

Bilbo could tell that Bombur was intentionally holding back, but his cryptic answer only served to further pique Bilbo’s curiosity. He tried again.

“I’m sure he’s just doing all he can to protect them. I suppose I’m just curious what could be so bad that they decided to leave Erebor so quickly. It seems Thorin misses it too…”

Bombur’s expression darkened as Bilbo trailed off and the latter swallowed, wondering if he had pushed it too far.

“Mr. Baggins-”

“Bilbo, please, Bombur. No need to be so formal,” he corrected, softly.

“Bilbo,” Bombur conceded, looking somewhat apologetic. “I really shouldn’t be tellin’ you much about this...so do me a favor and don’t mention this conversation to Thorin, alright?”

Bilbo nodded, unsure if the man would go on. After a few moments, he did.

“Me, and my family, we owe Thorin our lives. You see...Thorin’s grandfather, he’s an important figure in Ereborian politics. He and Thorin don’t get along, never have. They disagree on policy, and just about everything else. I don’t want to say too much, but I’ll just tell you that Thorin has gone directly against his grandfather, Thror’s wishes in some of his personal projects, and that has made a lot of other politicians in Erebor angry.

Bilbo was silent, trying not to give away that he knew at least a little bit about this from Gandalf. Still, there were clearly many details missing.

“Then there was the thing with Thorin and Dís’ father,” Bombur said with a sigh, flipping up the speed of the wipers as the rain began to pelt harder at the windscreen.

Bilbo felt a chill of excitement and anxiety run up his spine. Thorin never talked about his father. He was surprised he was getting this information from Bombur at all. As if in response to his thought, Bombur waggled a finger in Bilbo’s direction to preface his speech.

“Now I’m only tellin’ you this so you don’t go around askin’ Thorin about his father, because that’ll guarantee a surly mood for the rest of us.” Bombur sighed and continued. “A few years back, shortly before the boys’ father, Romli passed - though not at all related - Thorin and   
Dís’ father, Thrain, died in a horrible accident. The circumstances of his death were a bit...mysterious, to be honest, but nevertheless it was an accident. Essentially, he took a tumble off a very high cliff.”

Bilbo audibly gasped, and then covered his mouth, looking sheepishly at Bombur. The latter simply raised his bushy red eyebrows in response, but continued.

“Thrain, like Thorin, was very opposed to his father’s policies. He fought against ‘em the best he could in his position, as a museum curator in the biggest museum in Erebor. They were always at each other’s throats, given the nature of Thror’s job. I think Thorin inherited a lot of that spirit. Wanted to do what was right. Well, what with Thrain’s death happening when it did, right in the middle of a lot of bitter fighting, a lot of nasty accusations thrown around politically...Thorin felt that it must have been a murder, his father. He thinks that people were getting worried. And with Thorin bein’ as outspoken as his father...he got worried. He wanted to make sure the boys and Dís were safe. They’re the most important things to him, in his life.”

Bombur glanced over at Bilbo, who was paying such rapt attention to the man that he hadn’t noticed that they had nearly arrived at the school, and was shaken from his reverie by the shouts of joyful children splashing in the rain nearby.

“So you see, Thorin has his reasons. He might be a little paranoid, sure, but he has good reason to be worried. His top priority is keeping Dís and her children safe,” Bombur said with finality, and Bilbo realized that was probably the end of that conversation. “Now, let’s get those rowdy boys home, shall we?”

The solemn expression and demeanor that Bombur had taken on during their conversation vanished like smoke and a jolly smile replaced it. Bilbo wondered what exactly Thorin had saved him and his family from, but that was a conversation for another time. 

Bombur put the car in park and reached for an umbrella in the backseat, moving to exit the car, but he stopped and leaned over towards Bilbo before he did.

“Remember to keep this just between us, yeah?” he said in a hushed tone, and Bilbo nodded silently, wondering what other secrets of the Durins would soon unravel before him.

~

Bilbo’s mind was in a bit of a haze that evening as he helped the boys with their assignments and gave them their individual tutoring lessons. He thought he had been distracted _before_ by his conversation with Ori, but the brief talk he had been given by Bombur in the car had completely blown his mind.

He felt a lot of residual guilt for his frustration and exasperation at Thorin, for how strict he was about the rules for Fíli and Kíli. He was just a terrified uncle, taking on the role of a father, trying to protect the most important people in his life from what seemed to be some very real danger. 

Although Kíli was as energetic and chipper as usual, sitting through his lessons with as much attentiveness as he could muster (both boys were disappointed that they couldn’t go outside for lessons today), Fíli noticed that Bilbo wasn’t all there, and asked him if he was feeling alright. Bilbo smiled and nodded in response, telling him he was just tired.

In all honesty, he felt entirely overwhelmed with all of this new information, coupled with his sort-of acceptance of his crush on Thorin. With all that had been revealed, he should have reasonably taken it as a sign to back off a bit, re-consider what he was getting into with Thorin. But to his dismay, it seemed to have quite the opposite effect. All he wanted to do was squeeze the living daylights out of the man, tell him that his boys were safe, that no harm would come to them under Bilbo’s watch. His affection for Thorin skyrocketed at the immense strength he showed in the face of tragedy. Bilbo had just wallowed in grief, for years, following his mother’s death. Thorin had mobilized and made sure that his family was safe.

Bilbo remained silent and contemplative during dinner, only really breaking through Kíli’s steady stream of narration about his day to tell the other that he’d better eat his vegetables or Bilbo would make sure that Bombur didn’t give him any of the pie he’d baked. 

When they’d finished dinner and the boys had some free time before bed, Bilbo asked Fíli if he could borrow his book on Erebor. The teen nodded enthusiastically, running upstairs to retrieve it. Bilbo felt guilty for not having engaged with the boys more during the afternoon and evening, and he vowed to be more present the next day.

Later on, he headed upstairs to put Kíli to bed and let Fíli know he had another hour to stay up before lights out. When he walked into the younger sibling’s room, he was surprised to see Kíli sitting on his bed, reading a small book. When he got closer, he realized that it was actually a photo album with dozens of photos in glossy sleeves.

He approached slowly and put a hesitant hand on Kíli’s little back.

“Hey there, sweetling, what are you looking at?” he asked.

Kíli looked up at him with big brown eyes full of nothing but innocence and affection.

“This is my photo book that mum got for me. It has pictures of Grandda, and Grandma, and Da…” Kíli ran his fingers over the glossy images before continuing. “They’re memories, so that I can always have them with me. That’s what mum says.”

Bilbo felt his heart shatter and tears prick at his eyes, but struggled to smile back at the little boy who had lost so much.

“That’s really nice, Kíli. That’s lovely. You’ll always have them with you,” he said, voice wavering slightly despite his best efforts.

Kíli was silent for a moment and then looked up at Bilbo, eyes shining with sadness for what might have been the first time since Bilbo met him. When he spoke, it was much more quietly than before.

“When Uncle Thorin is gone for a really long time, I get scared that he’ll go away like da did. I don’t know why, but I just do.”

Kíli turned to look back down at the photo album, turned to a page with photos of what looked like an infant version of himself, a younger Thorin, and a tall, good-looking man with high cheekbones and flowing golden hair. 

Bilbo knelt down next to Kíli and brushed some of his long hair behind his ear.

“Kíli, your Uncle is coming back. He loves you very _very_ much and he will always be there to protect you. I’m so sorry about your dad...that must be very hard. But I’m glad you have pictures to remember him by.” Bilbo pointed at the blonde man in the photograph. “Is that your da?”

Kíli nodded, a small smile on his lips. 

“He looks like Fíli, huh? That hair!” Bilbo said softly, poking him in the arm a little.

Kíli let out a little laugh and nodded, the sadness fading from his eyes just a bit. “He does. I think Fíli should grow his hair long too!”

Bilbo chuckled, ruffling Kíli’s hair. “I think that would be great! You two would look like Jedi!”

Kíli laughed, and Bilbo’s mention of Star Wars sent the young boy into a long-winded ode to his love of the film franchise. Roughly ten minutes later, Bilbo had successfully convinced Kíli to lay down and attempt to sleep. He turned off the lights and left the room, calling goodnight to Fíli through the teen’s door before heading downstairs.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he entered the drawing room, flopping down onto the couch. It was 8:45 PM, and he hadn’t yet heard from Thorin. It was definitely going to be one of the later nights he spent at the Durins’. He thought it wasn’t so bad though, as he listened to the steady rainfall pelting the windows. Besides, he didn’t really mind staying late at the townhouse. It was a gorgeous building that was lavishly furnished, and the refrigerator was always well stocked. He knew he couldn’t on the job, but he once in a while thought about how nice it might be to curl up in front of the fireplace with a pipe full of weed and snacks nearby. 

He sighed and picked up the book on Erebor that Fíli had left for him on the coffee table. He flipped it open to the first page and stared at the Ereborian script, glancing back and forth between the original and the English translation. The language was quite unique. He started reading from the beginning, an introductory few pages about how the country had gained its independence from various empires that tried to take over the region. The mountains had played a strategic role in giving Ereborians the upper hand in nearly every military occurence in their history. The book also spoke of an ancient civilization of kings that were unimaginably wealthy, isolated far away from everyone else deep in the Blue Mountains. 

Bilbo narrowed his eyes when he heard the name.

_Blue Mountain Brothers. I wonder if there’s any connection to Bofur’s shop...is he Ereborian too? I’ll have to ask the next time I see him. What are the chances?_

He flipped through the book for a few more minutes when he encountered the section on The Lonely Mountain. Suddenly remembering Ori’s comment about the megalith, he flipped the page over and carefully examined the aerial photo of the crumbling stone temples. It was easier to see the stone structure from these pictures, but far enough away that there was still very little detail. The only information he could glean from the text was that there were two of the structures remaining, but there may at one point have been more. They were positioned around the perimeter of the temples, but there may have been more rock carvings farther out that had eroded or crumbled from the cliff-side over time. 

Bilbo frowned at the page. Surely there had to be more information. Maybe he could look it up…

Just as he was contemplating doing just that, he heard the door click open and the sound of rain falling on pavement filled the echoey halls of the townhouse. Bilbo glanced at the clock on the mantle and saw that it was 9:30 PM. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been reading. He hastily pulled off his reading glasses as he heard footsteps coming down the hall and sat up a little on the couch.

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous. It was just like seeing Thorin come home any other day, but...he’d learned so much, both about himself and about Thorin since the last time he’d seen the man in person. Things felt like they had somehow shifted for Bilbo and he suddenly wasn’t sure how he was going to interact with Thorin normally.

Then all of the sudden Thorin was standing in front of him in the doorway, wearing a heavy, sodden coat and looking drenched. Little puddles were pooling on the floor around his feet.

“Oh!” was all Bilbo could say, a little puff of breath escaping his lungs in surprise. 

Thorin met his eyes and his eyebrows were raised in amusement, a little smile peeking out from behind long locks of wet hair.

Bilbo felt breathless, his chest swelling almost painfully at the sight. He swallowed and attempted to speak again.

“My goodness, you’re soaked! You should take that rain coat off, you’re getting water everywhere!” he jumped from the couch, not sure what to do.

Thorin chuckled lowly and shrugged off his coat, hanging it up in the hallway and removing his shoes before coming into the room. He pulled his wet hair back behind him and tied it into a ponytail.

“Please, sit. I’m done ruining the floors,” he waved a hand at Bilbo as he crossed the room and headed to the fire place, tossing a few logs on before switching on the gas mechanism. 

Bilbo shifted his weight restlessly for a moment and then finally sat back down. He was close to the fire place and could already feel the heat coming off of it. It was lovely.

“Wow it is really...raining hard,” he said, wincing a bit at his own awkwardness. “What a horrible day for my car to act up, eh?”

Thorin turned to look over his shoulder at Bilbo as he poked at the fire. “I am sorry about that. I can give you a ride home whenever you’d like. But it is currently pouring, as you can see.”

“Yes, well. I could always walk home, I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“It’s not an imposition, Bilbo. Really. Wait out the rain here,” Thorin said, his back turned and his voice betraying nothing.

Bilbo suddenly had the urge to get up and run away. He felt overwhelmed by all the information he had absorbed and everything that had occurred in the past 48 hours or so. Thorin finally turned around and his eyes were kind, but also very tired. His whole face looked a little sunken, and he seemed exhausted. Bilbo felt the panic from before start to fade as he regarded the other man.

“...ok. You...you must be freezing, you should sit in front of the fire. I can make us some tea?”

Thorin chuckled, but did sink to sit cross legged in front of the fire, flexing his large palms over the flames. “Always buzzing around. I don’t know how you have so much energy at the end of the day,” he muttered, his tone light.

“Excuse me? Did you say _buzzing?”_ Bilbo sputtered indignantly.

Thorin had the decency to look a bit sheepish, before replying, “Sorry. Tea would be very nice, thank you.”

“Alright then, one minute,” Bilbo said, retreating to the kitchen to fix them some tea. 

The roar of the rain was louder in the spacious room, which felt too empty to Bilbo. The familiar white noise of the boiling water calmed him and reminded him of home. He took a few deep breaths and rolled his shoulders, trying to unwind. When he returned to the parlour a few minutes later Thorin had relocated to the couch, wet hair slung over one shoulder leaving a damp spot on his dark shirt. He was gazing into the fire with his usual brooding expression, and Bilbo almost wanted to make fun of him for it, until he thought about all the reasons Thorin had for acting the way that he did.

He padded silently into the room, and placed a tray laden with a teapot and cups on saucers down on the coffee table. He sat down on the couch next to Thorin and felt immediately enveloped in warmth by the heat of the fireplace across from them. It was a lovely remedy for the chill that had settled deep in his bones from the awful weather. 

Thorin turned to him and smiled, reaching for a teacup. “Thank you.”

Bilbo nodded, only meeting Thorin’s gaze once he could partially hide his face behind his own cup. The latter was looking at him with something warm in his eyes, now in their liquid state and reflecting the flickering flames before them. 

Bilbo cleared his throat, reflecting amusedly on how he still shrunk under that intense gaze, but for different reasons now than before. 

“Well, both Fíli and Kíli are in bed. Kíli only talked to me about Star Wars for ten minutes tonight before agreeing to go to sleep, so I really think we’re making some progress,” Bilbo spoke lightly, gradually feeling more relaxed as he sat in front of the fire.

Thorin chuckled, a low rumbling sound that made Bilbo’s chest flutter, and turned to gaze into the fire. Bilbo had only turned on one lamp for reading, having used the room earlier with only the natural light coming in. Now the room was lit lowly with the single lamp and the warm light of the fire in the otherwise dark and cavernous space. It felt more intimate than Bilbo had realized, initially. He spied Thorin’s profile over the rim of his cup, strong jaw, nose and brow gilded by the firelight. His dark hair looked warmer and the strands of silver glimmered in the light of the fire. He thought again, and probably not for the last time, that Thorin was unfairly beautiful. So entranced was he by the latter’s glowing profile that he was almost startled when Thorin spoke.

“That’s good. Kíli usually has a lot of say about Star Wars,” he said, chuckling, then turned to look at Bilbo. “I saw that you were reading from Fíli’s book again. Has he been pressuring you?”

Thorin’s tone was light and teasing, but Bilbo rushed to defend the teen.

“Oh no, Fíli has been incredibly generous with his book, and he was very excited for me to read more about Erebor, but I’ve been curious myself, actually. I met up with an old friend from grad school this weekend who does archaeological work in the Baltics and we got to talking about archaeology, as we naturally do. I’d just been thinking a lot about this book. I’d tried looking up some articles to read more about the ruins on the Lonely Mountain, but oddly there’s not a lot out there that’s been published. Definitely nothing in the past 20 years or so.”

Thorin’s expression darkened somewhat, though it was barely perceptible before it was covered with a cool mask. Bilbo felt his gut clench in anxiety. He had tried to be careful about what he brought up, but didn’t realize that this too would be a touchy subject.

“Yes...due to, certain...isolationist policies of the ministry of culture, more recent archaeological and scientific findings have not been published.”

Thorin scowled as he spoke, and clearly the statement was loaded. Bilbo remembered what Bombur had told him about Thror, the minister of culture, and his intergenerational feud with both Thorin and his father, Thrain. He felt torn, knowing what he did about Thorin now. He wanted to offer him some comfort, some consolation that Bilbo understood Thorin’s frustration and that he was justified in his anger. Instead, he decided to shift the subject slightly.

“That’s too bad. I’m sorry, I’m sure there have been some amazing discoveries over the decades...say, I had been looking at this picture and something has been catching my interest, but I can’t find anything about it.”

The thinly-veiled frustration in Thorin’s face faded and he leaned closer to Bilbo, peering over at the open book in his hands as Bilbo flipped to the page. 

“What was it? Maybe I can offer some information,” he said.

Thorin was so close that Bilbo could feel the heat coming off of his body, and could smell the light, woody scent of his cologne. His mind felt a little hazy as he flipped through the pages, trying to organize his thoughts, and his face heating. Bilbo cleared his throat as he turned to the page with the aerial close up of the temple complex and megalith structure. 

“This structure…” he began, pointing to the grainy shape of the triangle and willing his voice to stay even despite Thorin’s proximity. “It’s interesting. I read that there are at least two, and might have been more around the perimeter. The shape is fascinating...it sort of reminds me of some of the megalith structures I’ve seen in Central and South America, and even here in England, at Stonehenge…I was wondering if you knew what its purpose was? Is it some sort of celestially-oriented structure? Does the sun shine directly through it at some point during the year, or something like that?”

Thorin made a strange noise in the back of his throat, it sounded almost like a surprised laugh. Bilbo, startled, swiveled his head to look at him. Thorin was staring right at him, blue eyes dark in the dim light and expression incredulous. If Bilbo didn’t know better, he would say that it was an expression of wonder.

After a few moments, Thorin finally spoke.

“Um. Yes. They...the archaeologists, they believe that they were oriented to line up with the sun during different seasons. This structure,” Thorin reached his outside arm across the book in Bilbo’s lap, pointing to the megalith structure, his other arm braced straight behind Bilbo. “...is hit directly by the sun during the summer solstice. It casts an incredible shadow, a long spike of darkness that falls across the ruins. It’s magnificent.”

Thorin’s voice was low, and although Bilbo was fascinated by the information, he felt lightheaded at the other’s proximity, his arm stretching into Bilbo’s space, the heat radiating off of him. It was absurdly intimate and if Bilbo had been thinking a little more clearly, he might’ve questioned whether Thorin had intentionally gotten so close. 

“I...know that you were interested in the idea of working in Erebor,” Thorin began, sounding hesitant.

He pulled back from where he had been leaning in as he spoke, and Bilbo’s skin prickled in protest as the cooler air rushed in.

“Gandalf proposed it as an idea when he recommended you. I’m not in charge of excavations, and there’s really nothing going on at the moment. We’ve been shut down by the Ministry of Culture, which, I’m sure you know by now, is headed by my grandfather,” Thorin began, gazing into the fire as he spoke.

Bilbo nodded quietly, a bit surprised at Thorin’s candor and worried about giving away how much he already knew.

“...But if we ever get up and running again, which I fully intend to do-” Thorin turned to Bilbo, an intense look in his eyes, shaded by the deep furrow of his brow. “- I see no reason why you couldn’t join the crew. You’re interested in Ereborian history, you are an experienced archaeologist, and you have integrity of character.”

Bilbo forced himself not to look away as Thorin spoke, but he nearly wilted under the flattery. He had never been great at taking a compliment. Certainly not from someone as beautiful as Thorin. He swallowed, nodding dumbly. 

“Thank you, I would love to join the project,” he said quietly, but sincerely.

Thorin, for his part, looked away after a beat, and Bilbo wondered if the tips of his ears were stained adorably pink in the low light of the room.

Thorin pressed on, after a moment’s pause, “Right now, the future of the project is uncertain. There is both a significant cut in funding and political conflict that are jeopardizing i’s continued smooth running. There are also...matters of safety, with certain people involved in the project being more vulnerable, to consider.”

Thorin seemed to be choking out the words, and Bilbo felt bad, knew that it must have been very difficult for Thorin to talk about these things with an outsider, and he knew how much the latter must have trusted him to impart this information.

Bilbo nodded, smiling sympathetically in a gesture he hoped would urge Thorin to continue. 

“These are things you will be briefed on well before the project starts up again, _if_ it starts up again, so I don’t want to...share a lot, before things are finalized. Suffice it to say, there have been some recent, very significant discoveries revealed from the excavations that have been taking place over the last decade. Things of great value have been discovered, and because all information from government-funded excavations must be shared with the Ministry of Culture, the information was quickly disseminated.” 

Thorin paused to take a long sip of tea and Bilbo waited patiently, though inside his mind was spinning, trying to piece together all of the information from disparate sources he had learned about Erebor, trying to discover the source of all the secrecy. After what felt like a painfully long pause, Thorin continued.

“The Ministry of Culture maintains the deeply troubling policy of isolationism upheld by many of the oligarchic ruling class in Erebor. They believe the discoveries of the Lonely Mountain too valuable to reveal to the rest of Europe, to the rest of the world. They won’t allow any publications with existing data, nor continued work on the project. They believe it will put the site at risk for looters. Or that international scholars will come and try to take over excavations. Or at least, that’s what they want Thror to believe, so that they can-”

Thorin sighed, a long, pained noise, as he gripped at the bridge of his nose with his index and forefinger. The skin went white with the pressure. Bilbo acted on reflex, an unconscious gesture that escaped him before he could stop it when he saw Thorin in pain. He reached out a hand and placed it on Thorin’s shoulder. His palm and fingers looked small on the rounded muscle, and he could feel solid heat radiating from beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. His heart pounded in his chest.

Thorin jumped a little under his touch, and immediately released his nose, looking up at Bilbo in shock. Bilbo drew his hand back quickly, feeling guilty and embarrassed. It was his instinct to offer physical comfort and reassurance, particularly when he saw someone he...deeply cared about in pain. 

“I’m sorry, I -” Bilbo started quietly, but Thorin cut him off with a shake of his head, not meeting Bilbo’s eyes.

“N-no, it’s...uh. Fine. I’m - it’s fine,” Thorin stumbled over his words, suddenly bashful.

Bilbo was certain, now, that Thorin’s cheeks and ears were glowing redder than usual, even in the dim light of the fire. Thorin cleared his throat, taking another long sip of tea and continuing to avoid Bilbo’s gaze.The tension between them - Bilbo was certain, now - was palpable. Whether it was for the same reason on both sides, was unclear.

“Please, continue...if you’d like,” Bilbo said softly.

For the first time since they’d met, Bilbo thought, Thorin raked a hand through his wavy locks. He looked...anxious. Bilbo’s fingers twitched to reach out and touch again, but he restrained himself.

“I love Erebor. It’s my home, it’s the boys’ home. But like many other countries, we have some unbelievably corrupt people in power. And others in power are gullible, easily manipulated by these snakes. These politicians, they whisper in the ears of the Ministry that ‘outsiders’ are coming to ‘steal our culture’ and that we must squirrel away our discoveries and our progress and our _history_ as if it were some dragon’s horde.”

Thorin was growing angrier, and his voice had risen slightly in pitch, his tenor more impassioned. He paused for a moment, breathing deeply, his voice calmer when he continued.

“Many of these corrupt politicians, one in particular...Azog...have stakes in the black market sale of artifacts. And that is precisely what they will do, at any cost.This is all to say...that this project is a bit unpredictable. A bit dangerous. There are a lot of politics involved in what is going on and I think...I believe you have a right to know about at least some of that going in.”

When Thorin finally fell silent, Bilbo had no idea what to say. He had received so much information about Erebor in the past 24 hours, he really didn’t know how to process it all. He supposed some danger and mystery had been implied when Gandalf told him about the project, but he had no idea how serious the situation actually was. Bilbo didn’t know what was wrong with him, it did scare him a little bit, but it didn’t at all make him feel deterred from going to Erebor. If anything, it intrigued him. Frightened him, but intrigued him. 

“Thorin, I…” he paused, worrying at his lip, “Thank you for telling me all of this. I do appreciate the warning, really. But...I’m still interested in working for the project, if it ever does get up and running again.” Bilbo said, after some thought.

Thorin nodded, and the look in his eyes was complicated, indecipherable, but not hard, and not angry. 

“Have you ever faced any troubles like this in projects you’ve worked on?” he said, and Bilbo could see he the exhaustion in his face, the unspoken plea to drop the subject.

Bilbo smiled wryly. “Like this? Oh, no...not quite so...complex. But looters are something I’m all too familiar with, that’s for sure. Did you know, in parts of the desert of Peru where I’ve worked, they’ll sometimes blow up sites with _dynamite?_ To try to get the gold out. There’s no bloody gold!”

Thorin chuckled, eyes crinkling. Bilbo’s heart fluttered at the sight.

“That _is_ ridiculous. Aren’t they worried about harming whatever they find?” 

“You’d think. They blow up a lot of pottery that’s worth a whole lot more to us.”

Bilbo explained to Thorin that during his last season of fieldwork, they’d had to be very wary of looters. Thorin asked him about his experiences at other dig sites, and as the minutes ticked by Bilbo found himself gushing about the work he’d done, the incredible places he’d lived and worked, and the amazing and unforgettable people he’d met. He talked about his first ever find, a beautifully polychromatic Moche rim sherd, red and black paints glistening in the sun, and his most exciting discoveries. He talked about the hierarchy and drama of field crews, and the unilateral love for alcohol.

Thorin listened, amused, but didn’t say much beyond prompting Bilbo to continue, and asking him a question here and there. He had turned to face Bilbo on the couch, one leg folded in front of him, and his elbow was pressed into the back cushion with his head propped on his fist and tilted towards Bilbo. His face was relaxed, a small smile on his lips. Bilbo eventually tapered off under his silent scrutiny, worried that he was speaking too much.

“Well, anyway…” he trailed off, feeling a bit too warm. He shrugged his cardigan off and rolled the sleeves of this white shirt up to the elbow before continuing. “I’m probably talking your ear off, I’m so sorry. I get carried away. I miss it.”

“No.” Thorin spoke with finality, his face mildy incredulous, as if he was affronted at what Bilbo had said. “Your stories are fascinating. You’ve lived so many experiences.”

Thorin’s eyes slid from Bilbo’s face to his newly exposed forearm, resting on his thigh. Before Bilbo could fully process what was happening, Thorin’s warm fingers were wrapped around his wrist and pulling it up from his thigh gently to hold in front of his face. His gaze was locked on the top of Bilbo’s forearm. Bilbo sucked in a breath and held it, heat spreading from his wrist where it was held in Thorin’s strong grip down his arm and into his chest.

“I’ve never seen this. I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” Thorin mumbled, examining the design swirling around Bilbo’s elbow and upper forearm.

“What, is that not allowed? Will I be fired?” Bilbo quipped, nervous as hell but determined to maintain his composure.

Thorin snorted derisively, turning Bilbo’s wrist over to examine the sides and back of the tattoo. Thorin’s fingers felt so warm, and his hand so large, wrapped around Bilbo’s wrist. But his grip was gentle, relaxed. Bilbo wondered if Thorin could feel his rapid pulse beating away beneath the skin of his wrist.

“No. It’s just, it’s so large, I don’t know how I never saw it. It’s beautiful,” he said in a low voice that sent tingles running up Bilbo’s spine.

Bilbo felt his face flush at Thorin’s compliment. The proximity and the flattery from Thorin tonight were clouding his mind in a warm haze like whiskey, and he felt almost uninhibited in the low light of the fire. It scared him, a little bit. He cleared his throat, trying his best to slow his breathing and act natural. He turned his own wrist in Thorin’s grip slightly, admiring the design from above. Bilbo did love the tattoo, it was his favorite of the small collection he had. A wandering vine of pothos leaves, done in the crisp black ink of woodblock print style, wound its way around his upper forearm, elbow, and tricep. The joints of the vine were accented with sprays of forget-me-nots, painstakingly illustrated in detail.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, finally, raising a hand to trace the design as he explained it. “It’s a pothos vine, and forget-me-nots. It was...I erm, got it for my mother. After she passed. They were her favorite plants, one indoor and one outdoor. I always associate them with her and...I liked how they look together.”

Thorin finally released Bilbo’s arm, and the latter wished more than anything that he would put it back once that contact was broken. Instead, Thorin lifted his index finger to touch Bilbo’s forearm lightly, pointing to one of the clusters of small flowers. 

“These...are forget-me-nots? I haven’t seen this flower before,” he said, the light touch of his calloused finger raising goosebumps on Bilbo’s flesh.

“Yes. They’re wildflowers, they usually grow in shady, forested or boggy areas. Not so much in the middle of London,” he smiled at Thorin, though his heart still pounded in his chest.

“What color are they?” 

Bilbo was looking directly at Thorin when he spoke, and he almost wanted to laugh. Instead he paused for an inordinately long time, the words caught in his throat.

_They’re the color of your eyes on a sunny day. The exact hue of sky blue that they turn in a bright room, when you’re at your happiest. They’re the color of your eyes when you smile at me._

“They’re...blue. A very lovely shade of blue,” he replied finally, after what felt like far too long.

Thorin’s gaze was fixed on him and his expression was indecipherable. His eyes were dark liquid pools, reflecting the bright light of the fire in the oily black. Bilbo was incredibly aware of Thorin’s fingertips still resting at the crook of his elbow. His eyes flickered to Thorin’s lips for a fraction of a second, barely a conscious action, before snapping back to attention. Thorin’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. There was something new in his gaze that Bilbo wasn’t sure he’d seen before. Perhaps it was just the light, but there was something dark, something perhaps...hungry?

Just then, a loud buzzing and accompanying vibration alerted the pair to an incoming call. Thorin pulled his hand away from Bilbo’s arm and the latter scooted back hastily, patting down his shirt and pants to find his phone.

“It’s me,” Thorin said with a deep scowl, pulling his phone from his pocket and mouthing “sorry” before promptly rising from the couch and walking out of the room towards the kitchen. 

Bilbo sat, a little stunned, trying to figure out what exactly had just been going on before they’d been interrupted by the phone call. Had he imagined that...look in Thorin’s eyes? Maybe he’d just seen what he’d wanted to see. But Thorin had touched him, twice. In what was definitely a more friendly manner than what he’d ever done before. And what was...that, just then? There had been something between them, some kind of unspoken tension.

_Shit. Oh my God, is this actually happening? Is...does he...is something going to happen?_

Bilbo’s thoughts bounced around dizzyingly inside his head and he took several deep breaths to calm himself. He listened for the rain, but realized all he could hear now was the faint _drip-drop_ of water gradually draining off of roofs and tree branches onto the sidewalks. It seemed that the rain had finally stopped. He checked his phone and was shocked to see that it was nearly 11 PM. He and Thorin had talked for hours, and Bilbo hadn’t even noticed. Time seemed to pass like that when he was around Thorin.

Bilbo stopped his train of that right there - he was getting into dangerous territory. Perhaps Ori had been right - he didn’t even realize the full extent of his feelings. He really needed to get home, just to get away from Thorin for a little bit and think clearly, process everything that he had learned and that had happened.

He strained to hear whether Thorin’s phone conversation was nearly over - but all he could here was the occasional harsh consonant in the otherwise hushed tones of Thorin’s speech.

He slipped on his cardigan and padded out into the hallway to put on his shoes and jacket. Bilbo walked slowly back into the drawing room, and just as he was contemplating how to make the fastest escape, Thorin appeared in the doorway at the other side of the room. His expression was haggard, his brow furrowed and deep creases at the corners of his mouth. An insane urge to walk across the room and embrace Thorin nearly overtook him, but he resisted, hands balling into fists at his sides.

“So...the rain finally stopped,” he said, taking a few steps into the room. “I should probably get going, it’s late.”

Thorin scrubbed a hand over his face, nodding. “Of course. I didn’t realize the time...I’ll grab my keys.”

“No, it’s alright, I can walk! It’s really very close and I’d enjoy the fresh air and exercise. And you seem really exhausted. Please, get some rest.”

Bilbo felt bad. Thorin really did look exhausted, but Bilbo also wasn’t sure it was a great idea for him to be alone in an enclosed space with Thorin right now. He needed to clear his head, and it seemed the close to Thorin he was, the more inebriated he felt.

Thorin nodded after a moment, and his expression seemed to close off. Bilbo tried to ignore the sting that resonated inside of him at the cold shift in those eyes. When Thorin spoke, his tone was even.

“Alright. I’ll send someone over in the morning to look at your car. Around 10 probably, but I’ll let you know if that changes.” Thorin raked a hand through his hair once more and then shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

Evidently, he had nothing else to say. Bilbo felt a flicker of annoyance but tried to brush the feeling away. He slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and nodded, starting towards the door.

“Good night, Thorin,” he called, and didn’t wait for a response before he shut the door behind him.

~

Bilbo hadn’t been lying about the fresh air doing him some good. He felt himself calm slightly as he pulled in deep breaths of the damp, chilled air. He gazed up at the sky above and the clouds had started to clear, revealing a few shining stars and a nearly full moon. The light cast a silvery glow on the wet streets, and it was beautiful, almost enough to take Bilbo’s mind off of every panicked thought that threatened to crash over him like a tidal wave.

When he finally made it to his apartment he trudged up the stairs, suddenly exhausted. He turned the key to open his door and slipped inside, not bothering to turn on the lights before slamming it shut and falling back against it. He slowly slid to the floor, back flat against the cold wood of the door. 

“What. the. Hell.” he said aloud to no one in particular.

Like some cruel cosmic joke, his phone buzzed a few moments later, alerting him to a text message from Thorin. He stared at it for a second, utterly unsure of what he would find, before unlocking his phone.

The message read:

“Made it home?”

Bilbo released the breath he had been holding in a choked laugh, a powerful warmth filling his chest and head. This was not good. This was something serious. Ori had been absolutely right, he was in deep.

Bilbo brought his knees up to his chest and folded his head down to rest on them, releasing a long sigh.

“Well, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dumb and I called Dís' former spouse "Frerin" in an earlier chapter, sorry about that yikes!! So I retconned that in but Romli is actually Dís' ex-husband. Frerin is her canonical brother. 
> 
> thanks for reading!! It was really fun to write this chapter!


	7. Chapter VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah sorry this took forever...I have a good excuse. In a strange case of reality echoing fiction, I got a new teaching job as an adjunct professor of art history and have been super duper preoccupied with that. Between lesson planning, this chapter finally got finished. Enjoy the flirting!!
> 
> Also if you enjoyed my story please leave a review, it motivates me to write <3 <3

Bilbo had remained seated on the floor - eventually sliding fully onto his back to stare at the ceiling - for a good forty-five minutes after he arrived at his apartment. He tried to focus on what he’d learned about Erebor, cobbling the piecemeal information together into some sort of cohesive narrative, but no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, memories of the evening with Thorin continued to invade his mind.

He thought about the warmth of Thorin’s fingers wrapped around his wrist and the dark, liquid look that had burned deep into Bilbo through hooded eyes. Eventually, he gave in and let the memories flood over him, micro-analyzing each moment and playing it over and over again in his head. He knew he was heading down a dangerous path, but he was almost past the point of caring. He cursed that damn phone for ringing before whatever was about to happen...happened. 

Bilbo groaned heavily as he picked himself up from the floor and headed to bed. As he peeled his shirt off, he ran his fingers over his tattoo and shivered at the memory of Thorin’s touch. He was sure his dreams would be interesting tonight.

~

The next couple of weeks were anti-climatically normal. He picked up Fíli and Kíli from school, administered their afternoon lessons, and helped them with their homework. The weather hadn’t improved much, but the constant rain had at least slowed, and it was mostly foggy and damp. It didn’t seem to bother either of the boys much though, and they still went on almost daily short walks. Fíli commented at one point that the fog reminded him of the mist that frequently hung low around Erebor’s rugged terrain and filled its valleys like smoke. It felt familiar.

With the boys’ workload ramping up as the midpoint of the semester passed, everything was  _ almost  _ completely normal. Thorin came home in time for dinner for most of the week, and he and Bilbo would awkwardly dance around each other for a bit before Bilbo would make an excuse to leave rather than staying for the meal. He partially did this because Thorin also seemed a little uncomfortable around him, and he didn’t want to exacerbate the situation. There didn’t seem to be any hostility between them - Thorin still offered him a few of those small, secretive smiles and a quip here and there, but if their gazes locked for too long, and that tension began to build, Thorin would quickly look away, or clear his throat and change the subject. 

It was beginning to drive Bilbo mad. Thorin could be so unreadable - even after knowing the man for months. The worst part of it all was that Bilbo still really wasn’t sure how Thorin felt about him. He had felt reasonably confident that there was something between them after that night with the rain, but Thorin had been acting strangely since, so perhaps Bilbo had misread the situation. He hated not knowing, and doubting his own senses constantly. He knew Thorin hadn’t done anything wrong, not really, but he was irritated with the man nonetheless. What was his goal here? Was he trying to build a friendship with Bilbo outside of their working relationship? Something more? Or nothing at all beyond a professional relationship? Bilbo found the latter of those options hard to believe. Thorin may have been stoic and cryptic most of the time, but Bilbo was sure that there was  _ something  _ going on that night before they’d been interrupted, and he was growing impatient to find out exactly  _ what  _ it was.

He thought that he had done a good job hiding his frustration and confusion from Fíli and Kíli, and hoped that his and Thorin’s somewhat awkward interactions had gone unnoticed by the boys. He was unfortunately mistaken, he found out one afternoon while he was helping Fíli with his chemistry homework. Fíli was learning about the law of conservation of mass and to balance chemical formulas, and the teen was picking up on the content remarkably quickly. Bilbo had to admit that he’d needed to give himself a refresher before helping Fíli with his work.

Fíli had just finished filling out his worksheet when he spoke, tone unassumingly casual. 

“Will you stay for dinner tonight, Bilbo? Uncle Thorin said he’d be home early again tonight, and mum might be here too.”

Bilbo froze, trying to control his expression and keep his tone even.

“Hmm, maybe...I’m sure your mum and uncle will want to spend time with you without the nanny around,” he said finally, going for a jesting tone.

Fíli didn’t laugh or smile, to Bilbo’s consternation, the corners of his mouth dipped down into a frown as he regarded Bilbo.

“But we really like having you at dinner. And mum won’t care, she likes you too,” Fíli insisted.

Bilbo could tell that Fíli was growing irritated. He should have realized that the boys would have at the very least been affected by him leaving before dinner every night that week so far. He felt a pang of guilt and wondered if Fíli thought that his absence had something to do with him and his brother. He was trying to think of something to say to comfort the teen and assure him that there was no problem with him or his family, that he was just tired, or busy...but before he could say anything, Fíli continued.

“Is it because you and my uncle are fighting?” he asked, point blank, expression stoic.

“Uhhhm,” Bilbo said in response, unsure of how to answer.

“You two have been acting weird this week,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly, but his eyes were intensely trained on Bilbo.

Every day Bilbo could see more of Thorin’s personality and mannerisms emerging in his oldest nephew, as loathe as Fíli would have been to admit it. 

“I figured you got in another fight. Did he say you were bad at science again? I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Uncle Thorin just doesn’t know how to talk to people.”

Bilbo couldn’t restrain the little giggle that escaped his lips, and thought he tried to straighten his expression before Fíli noticed, it was evidently too late as the latter narrowed his eyes at Bilbo.

“I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I mean you’re kind of right about him,” Bilbo began, struggling to keep his face straight. “We didn’t get in a fight, I promise. And...I would be happy to join you for dinner.”

Fíli’s lips twitched upwards into a smile before he quickly looked back down at his homework, schooling his expression.

“Okay, cool. I mean you don’t have to. Kíli would really like it, I think,” he said, but did flash another little smile at Bilbo. He paused thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. “So...if you two didn’t get in a fight then...why is Uncle Thorin acting weird around you?” Fíli asked, chewing on the tip of his pencil.

“Ah...is he? I hadn’t noticed…” Bilbo lied smoothly, or at least he hoped. “I think Thorin...your uncle has just been working very hard recently, and is a little stressed out. Nothing to worry about. And I promise you we’re not fighting, alright?”

He ducked his head down a bit to catch Fíli’s eye and hoped that the kernel of truth shone through his deceit. He felt terribly guilty about lying to Fíli, and essentially gaslighting the perceptive teen, but the complexity of the situation called for discretion.

Fíli seemed to accept his answer but wasn’t completely satisfied by it. He frowned - the crease that formed between his brows reminding Bilbo so much of Thorin - but nodded silently in reply. Kíli, who had been ignoring the exchange for the most part while doodling in the margins of his worksheet, piped up once the conversation had petered out.

“Bilbo, can we play video games now? I finished my homework,” he pleaded.

Bilbo smiled, in part relieved for the change of subject. “You mean, can you and Fíli kick my butt again at some video games?”

“Well, yeah,” Kíli said, matter-of-factly as he got up from the floor, and Fíli snorted in response.

Bilbo considered himself safe from further inquiries, for the moment.

In the end, Dís did not come to dinner, nor come home early, to the boys’ great disappointment. Bilbo was disappointed too, not only because he enjoyed her company, but also because he was hoping that she could serve as a buffer between him and Thorin. 

There was no feud between them, as Fíli imagined, but there was some sort of unspoken tension that had increased ten-fold after the night that Bilbo had stayed late. He  _ was  _ embarrassed that Fíli had noticed, though - he had been so caught up in his own feelings towards Thorin that he had forgotten that the boys were there for almost all of their interactions, and Fíli was certainly more perceptive than Kíli. He decided that he could suck it up and have dinner with Thorin and the boys without acting weird. He was an adult, and nothing had really  _ happened.  _ Besides, if he wanted Fíli to stop asking questions, this was the best way to put the teen’s mind at ease.

He had been sitting on the carpeted floor of Fíli’s bedroom, watching him and his younger brother play mario kart for a few hours, when he heard the door open downstairs and deep voices conversing. A raucous belly laugh echoed through the house and Bilbo smiled, assuming that Bombur had arrived at the same time as Thorin. Bilbo enjoyed the company of the jovial cook, and liked listening to his stories of Erebor and his family whenever the two had time to talk. He wished that Bombur would stay to enjoy the delicious meals that he cooked for the family, but the man always seemed in a rush to get back home once he’d finished preparing supper. Bilbo couldn’t say that he had much of a similar inclination - he loved his new apartment, but going to work was the highlight of his day. He didn’t really have much of a family anymore, and going home to an empty apartment after a day filled with the laughter and smiles of children left him feeling a little lonely. 

He’d enjoyed staying for meals before, and he resolved to get over this awkwardness with Thorin and go back to joining the family for supper on a regular basis. Fifteen minutes later, Bilbo gathered his courage and headed downstairs with Fíli and Kíli. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Kíli spotted Thorin in the sitting room and darted towards him, yelling in delight.

“Uncle Thorin…! I got  _ two  _ stickers at school today!”

The sound of Kíli’s gleeful voice faded as he hastily retreated from the room, and Bilbo could hear the low rumble of Thorin’s chuckle in response. He bit his lip and then inhaled deeply before walking into the room to greet Thorin, with Fíli in tow, watching him more closely than Bilbo was entirely comfortable with.

“It’s true,” Bilbo began casually as he entered the room. “Kíli was brilliant today. One sticker for remembering not to talk without raising his hand, and one sticker for getting 100 percent on his art project.”

Thorin looked up in surprise as Bilbo spoke, but a small smile curled at the corner of his lips when he heard about Kíli’s accomplishments.

“How wonderful, Kíli. Excellent work.”

Kíli beamed up at his uncle as he gently ruffled his hair. Thorin then turned his gaze to Bilbo and looked almost...hesitant? His expression was neutral but something about his face seemed guarded, as though barely containing some vulnerability.

“I trust everyone was well behaved?” he asked, tone even.

“Of course! When have these boys ever misbehaved?” Bilbo quipped, directing a sly look over at Fíli who snorted and rolled his eyes. “All homework and lessons are done, and everything went swimmingly.”

Thorin nodded, pleased, and the hesitant expression seemed to return as his gaze briefly flitted to the side before meeting Bilbo’s.

“Will...you stay for dinner?” he asked after just a beat, and before Bilbo could answer, Fíli chimed in.

“Yes, he’s going to!”

Thorin cast a bemused glance over at Fíli on the couch, whose attention had already returned to his phone. Thorin’s gaze then met Bilbo’s once more.

“He’s right, I was planning on it. As long as it’s alright with you,” Bilbo offered, squishing down the desire to look away and holding Thorin’s gaze with a warm smile.

Bilbo swore he could see the hesitation fade from Thorin’s eyes as the tension between them palpably lessened. At that moment, he sensed that Thorin had likely been feeling just as anxious and awkward about the tension between them as Bilbo had, and the two had likely just been escalating it by avoiding one another. It made him want to laugh and yell in frustration at the same time. How could Thorin be not only so forthcoming, but so  _ blunt  _ with some things and then utterly opaque in others? 

_ Maybe I need to be a little more straightfoward myself, with him... _ Bilbo thought to himself, as he reminisced over their interactions of the past two weeks.  _ I suppose I’m guilty of doing just the same. _

And so he resolved himself to do just that as they sat down for dinner - he still felt unsure of so many things about Thorin, but he thought it was fair to assume that the man liked him, and trusted him. Whether there was anything more...well, Bilbo would just have to be patient. Unfortunately, patience had never been one of Bilbo’s biggest virtues. Nonetheless, he would try.

The meal they all shared was pleasant, and Bilbo and Thorin seemed to fall back into the easy pattern of conversation and teasing that had been the norm before that night. Bilbo would glance over occasionally and see Fíli watching him and Thorin intensely, a calculating look on his face. It made him a little nervous, but Fíli began to relax and pay less attention to them as the night went on. 

Once they had finished dinner, Fíli and Kíli excused themselves and ran upstairs to continue the game they’d started before while Bilbo and Thorin collected dishes from the table to take to the sink. Bilbo allowed himself just a moment to bask in the domesticity of the scene before shaking it off, feeling silly.

He was pulled from his reverie when Thorin cleared his throat, gently. Bilbo looked up as he gathered the last plate from the table.

“Bilbo, I almost forgot to mention...I think I’m going to have to ask you to look after the boys on Saturday, maybe plan some sort of outing or activity with them. I’ve been trying to make it home for dinner more often but as a result I’ve got a lot of work piled up I need to finish by this weekend. And Dis…” Thorin paused, and his brow furrowed. “Well, there’s been a lot going on recently in Ereborian politics that she needs to keep a close eye on. She’s had to travel quite a bit, and I don’t think she’ll be around this weekend.”

Bilbo blinked a few times, processing the long string of words that had just come from his usually succinct friend.

“Yes, I can definitely do that. Thorin, have you been putting off work so that you can have meals with the boys? That is...so thoughtful of you. You’re a great uncle,” Bilbo said earnestly, smiling at Thorin.  _ Sweet  _ was really the word that came to mind, but Thorin had only just gone back to acting normally around him, and Bilbo didn’t want to push it.

Thorin looked away, evidently embarrassed.

“Ah...well, thank you. It’s...kind of you to say so,” he began, collecting one last dish from the table before walking through the swinging door to the kitchen and holding it open for Bilbo, who hastily followed. “But it seems I underestimated my workload for this week, and now I won’t be able to spend Saturday with my nephews, which I deeply regret.”

Bilbo padded along quietly behind Thorin as he placed the dishes in the sink. His tone was pained, and when he turned Bilbo could see how exhausted he looked. He felt a pang of sympathy for the man. He had never really had to balance work and family, not until near the end of his mother’s life, but Thorin had to do all of that constantly, along with whatever unspoken political obligations and anxieties were plaguing him. Bilbo also wondered what sort of things had been going on in Erebor that were keeping Dís so busy, and stressing Thorin out so much. He remembered the hushed phone call that had interrupted their...conversation the other night, and how haggard Thorin had looked afterwards. 

“It’s really okay! I’m sure they’ll understand,” Bilbo replied, his fingers itching to once again reach out offer physical comfort, but he restrained himself. “We’ll do something really fun. Ooh, I could take them to the natural history museum…!”

Thorin turned to him then, an amused expression on his face, eyebrow crooked upwards.

“The museum? Well, I’m sure they might enjoy it, though...is that the first thing that comes to mind when you think of ‘really fun’ activities for two young boys?” Thorin’s tone was light as he appraised Bilbo.

“Well, not the  _ only  _ thing! But learning can be fun!” Bilbo replied, wincing as he heard his intonation slide upward in pitch.“Would you rather me take them to an arcade? Maybe a carnival so they can go knock their brains around in their skulls for a bit?”

Thorin chuckled as he pulled the stack of plates from Bilbo’s hands and placed them in the sink. Bilbo got the distinct impression he was being laughed at.

“Well, perhaps you could take a day trip to the coast and teach them how to fish. It’s a good skill growing young men could benefit from,” Thorin said, back turned to Bilbo as he began to fill the sink with water.

Bilbo gaped in silence for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. Surely Thorin couldn’t be serious - what an odd thing to suggest! He didn’t think of Thorin as so...old-fashioned.

“You...want me to take Fíli and Kíli on a day trip to the coast...to go...fishing?” Bilbo began, trying to think of how to best shoot down Thorin’s idea without bruising the man’s ego.

At that moment, however, Thorin turned his head so that Bilbo could see his profile, and to the latter’s great surprise, Thorin was smirking in the closest approximation to a shit-eating grin that Bilbo had ever seen on his face.

“...oh,” he breathed, something stirring inside of him at the mischievous expression gracing Thorin’s usually stern and noble features. “You’re taking the piss.”

The mild cuss from Bilbo seemed to surprise and delight Thorin, who released a bark of surprised laughter before responding.

“Yes, I was joking.”

Bilbo shook his head in Thorin’s direction. “Sometimes, it is nearly impossible to tell.”

~

Bilbo was only mildly grumpy at having to drag himself out of bed at 8:30 am on a Saturday morning. He didn’t get to sleep in, but he was admittedly excited to have an excuse to go to the natural history museum again, and to spend the day with Fíli and Kíli. The rest of the week had passed rather uneventfully - Thorin hadn’t come home until very late on both Thursday and Friday, but had briefly explained to Bilbo when he did arrive that he was trying to catch up on some work so that he wouldn’t have to be gone for the entire day on Saturday. Bilbo thought it admirable of him; Thorin’s love for his nephews and his desire to ensure time with them even with his busy schedule was one of Bilbo’s favorite things about him. There was clearly some tension between Thorin and Fíli - largely, as Fíli pointed out, due to Thorin’s lack of interpersonal communication skills - but he never stopped trying to connect with the boys. 

Bilbo poured himself a steaming cup of coffee from his french press and read the news on his phone as he struggled to fully wake himself up. He reviewed his itinerary for the day in his head: Go to the natural history museum, go out for lunch, and then hopefully bribe the boys into some downtime at the townhouse with promises of ice cream. Also on his agenda was to not spend the whole day thinking about Thorin, and to not be disappointed when Thorin inevitably did not get out of work as early as he was hoping. He groaned at himself, his head falling onto the table. He had forgotten just how unpleasant it could be to have a crush, and it had been quite some time since he’d had one this debilitating. 

As he got dressed and prepared for the day, he told himself he would try his hardest today to focus his energy and attention on the boys only, and not let his mind wander into the webs of fantasies between him and Thorin that he’d been spinning for the past few weeks. He was certain he could do it.

His conviction faltered, however, when he arrived at the Durins’ front door at 9:15 sharp, and Thorin was waiting for him behind it. He looked cozy in a dark green knit sweater that hugged his broad shoulders and soft waist, paired with worn black jeans. Half of his hair was pulled back from his face in a messy bun at the top of his head, and the rest of his black and silver curls spilled over his shoulders. In contrast to his normal sharp couture for work, he looked cozy and inviting, but still absolutely delectable. Bilbo’s jaw worked for a moment in mild, internal irritation and he stepped in, slapping on a bright smile.

As he did, he began to question both Thorin’s more casual appearance as well as his relaxed posture. Thorin was usually out the door to make it to work on time by 9:15, but he didn’t seem to be in any rush to leave.

“Good morning Thorin-” Bilbo started at the same time as Thorin began to speak.

Both men chuckled and Bilbo shuffled his feet before looking up at Thorin, who was smiling easily back at him, and -  _ for fuck’s sake - _ looking up at Bilbo through thick lashes.  _ So much for keeping him out of my thoughts today _ , Bilbo thought forlornly.

“Sorry, you go ahead-” he choked out finally, embarrassed.

“I was going to call,” Thorin began, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking...vaguely nervous.

Bilbo leaned in, curious.

“Well, it turns out I don’t need to go into work today...I spent most of last night working from home after I got back from work yesterday; I was feeling bad about spending so much time away.”

As Thorin spoke, Bilbo noticed dark circles under his eyes; despite his expression and posture looking more relaxed than usual, he looked quite tired. Bilbo felt his heart give a painful thump in his chest - damn it if he wasn’t a sucker for a man who worked this hard for his kids.

“Anyway...I let slip that you were going to take the boys to the Natural History Museum today and now they’re absolutely adamant on going...I can take them myself, but...I was wondering, if you have the time, and of course, you’d be paid for the day, if you wouldn’t mind...accompanying us…?”

Bilbo’s chest filled and he fought a grin that threatened to spread across his face. Thorin wanted him to come - there was no reason he’d need to with the boys’ guardian there to look after them, but Thorin  _ wanted  _ him to come along. He wanted to spend time with Bilbo (or at least those were the panicked, excited thoughts that flickered across his mind while his heart fluttered happily in his chest).

He felt silly at how excited the request made him and internally chided himself to calm down, but the pink dusting Thorin’s cheeks and the tips of his ears drowned his internal voice out. Before he could doubt his decision, Bilbo reached out and placed a hand on the side of Thorin’s bicep, his touch light as he looked Thorin in the eyes.

“Thorin, I would absolutely  _ love _ to join you all today,” he said with a bright smile. “Besides, I was about to be really disappointed if you were going to tell me I just missed out on a free trip to the museum - I’ve been looking forward to this for days!”

Thorin chuckled and treated him to the same warm expression he’d worn when he answered the door. To Bilbo’s great satisfaction, he didn’t flinch away from the touch, either. Although, the feeling of Thorin’s arm, warm beneath the soft wool of his sweater, prompted memories from that night to begin to float to the surface of Bilbo’s mind and flooded his chest with heat.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” Thorin replied, eyes locked with Bilbo’s.

Thorin’s voice was so low when he spoke that it almost came out as a purr, and Bilbo blinked once, the heat expanding in his chest, hyper-aware of his proximity to Thorin and unsure if the latter had meant the sentence to sound as....sultry as it did. Thorin was holding his gaze steadily, his eyes gleaming, when the sound of socked feet pattering down the wooden hallway and Kíli’s shrill voice shouting for Bilbo broke the spell between them.

Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s arm quickly before dropping it, offering one final shy smile before turning to face the elated 8 year old barreling towards him. Kíli jumped into his arms, shoving the remnants of a waffle into his mouth before speaking.

“Bilbo! I’m so excited you’re here and we’re going to the museum and Uncle Thorin is coming too!”

The words were barely decipherable between mouthfuls of waffle and delivered in a long, rapid string, but Bilbo got the gist of it. He squeezed Kíli in a tight hug before releasing the latter who had lost interest and took off back down the hallway. Bilbo chuckled and glanced over to see Thorin smiling at him, his eyes warm. Bilbo felt a fluttering in his stomach that let him know he was going to have trouble keeping his composure if Thorin kept looking at him like that all day.

After Fíli and Kíli had finished their breakfast, they all loaded into Thorin’s car and took off for the museum. When they arrived and entered the main lobby, all four stopped for a moment to admire the towering, graceful arc of the vaulted ceiling. Bilbo had been to the museum somewhat recently, years ago, but it still filled him with awe to stand and look up at the intricate architecture, daylight pouring in through the skylight. He glanced over at Thorin, who looked both satisfied and impressed, and he felt a surge of pride at having suggested the outing.

Soon, Fíli and Kíli grew restless and were drawn to the massive staircase. Thorin bought the four of them tickets - Bilbo tried to insist on paying for his own but was firmly shut down - and they proceeded to the exhibits. The first one they entered was a spacious hall full of reconstructed dinosaur skeletons, which the boys stared at, mouths agape, before scurrying off, leaving Thorin and Bilbo behind. They spent a half hour or so in companionable silence, enjoying the displays and keeping an eye on Fíli and Kíli. Bilbo felt happier and more relaxed than he had in a long time, and couldn’t help but return to that feeling of comfort and...not precisely domesticity, so much as just feeling at home when he was with Thorin and his nephews. He could close his eyes and pretend that they were a family just like any other, out on a day trip. Wispy strands of memory floated through his mind; blurry images of Bilbo as a child, hand in hand with his mother as they walked through these very halls.

He glanced over at Thorin who was standing by Kíli, listening patiently as his nephew spoke animatedly about a diorama with a model of a small dinosaur inside of it. He was suddenly overcome by wistfulness - they were already a family, and they didn’t need him to be a part of it. He was only a temporary part of Thorin and his nephews’ lives; he shouldn’t presume to be any more, the voice in the back of his head reminded him.

Thorin seemed to sense his gaze and looked up, meeting Bilbo’s eyes with a smile. Bilbo felt a pang in his chest and forced a smile, turning to walk to another display. He would not ruin the day with his constant existential ruminations.

After wandering through the spacious halls for a while, the group traveled up an escalator to an installation on constellations and space. Bilbo’s head swiveled around on his shoulders as he tried to take in all of the scenery; the walls had been intricately decorated with a starry sky, with silvery lines connecting clusters of stars into constellations. The light was low and cast a pale blue glow on the museum-goers. 

When they reached the top of the stairs, Bilbo was nearly bowled over by the people behind him when he stopped to stare at the exhibit. There was a large, very realistic looking model of the moon suspended from the ceiling and lit from within with a blue-white light. Stars twinkled on the ceiling around it - it was mesmerizing. After a few moments, he realized Thorin was standing beside him, also staring at the model. Bilbo was surprised to see his expression was full of...longing.

“It’s...beautiful, isn’t it? Just lovely,” Bilbo said softly, tilting his head back to look at Thorin.

Thorin nodded, though his eyes didn’t leave the display. When he spoke, it was so quietly that Bilbo almost couldn’t hear him over the din of the crowd.

“The moon has always been very important to my people, to Erebor. It’s always played a role in our mythology and history. It was said that some of the first kings of Erebor were imbued with special power, given to them by the moon herself.”

Thorin turned to look at Bilbo as he continued, and the light from the electric constellations twinkled in his eyes, giving them almost a supernatural effect. Bilbo was captivated.

“The moon prevails in their art and architecture for centuries. Archaeologists say that those that dwelled in the Misty Mountains, the highest peaks in the nation, spent little time outdoors during the day. They built caverns and caves where they dwelled, because the bright sun at the high elevation burned their skin and blinded their vision. At night they emerged and feasted and reveled under the light of the moon.”

Thorin had begun to slowly walk around the model as he spoke, and Bilbo followed as he listened intently.

“Ancient Ereborians considered the moon sacred, and the light it emitted...magical. Some today are...superstitious, you could say, about it. They believe that light emitted from special lunar events, such as full moons, or eclipses, can connect us to our ancestors.”

Thorin paused, finally looking away from the display and chuckling as he rubbed at his temples.

“I suppose it all might seem kind of silly to you-”

“Not at all,” Bilbo interrupted, determined to assuage Thorin’s insecurity as it bubbled to the surface. Thorin was rarely so open, especially about Erebor and its culture. “It’s incredibly fascinating. I want to know more - it is so interesting to hear about a primarily lunar-based ideology...culture…”

Bilbo stumbled over his words a bit as Thorin looked back up at him, his expression almost vulnerable.

“I’ve studied so many different ancient cultures, almost all with important connections to celestial bodies, but...such a deeply ingrained emphasis on the moon that has lasted into modern Ereborian society is incredibly interesting.”

Thorin nodded, but he still looked slightly hesitant, he narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips for a moment, as though in concentration, before he spoke.

“It is. I...perhaps it was because of my upbringing, my father was...he taught Dís and I about Ereborian history from a very young age, and always emphasized the importance of heritage, and ties to our ancestors but...I’ve always felt connected or...or drawn to it, in some way. The moon. Perhaps it’s ridiculous…” Thorin shook his head, chuckling nervously.

He dragged his hand through his wavy locks, tugging at the black and silver strands. Bilbo recalled seeing him do the motion a few times before, and thought it might have been a nervous tic.

“It’s...it’s not ridiculous, Thorin, really,” Bilbo spoke softly, touching Thorin’s forearm lightly. He felt emboldened in the dim light, just as he had in the low light of the fire that night.

“I’ve always felt connected to plants, living things, the earth...for the same reason. My mum felt the same way as your dad, evidently. About roots, ancestors, heritage. The connection is very real, and it’s part of you.”

Thorin looked at him for a long time without speaking, and Bilbo held his gaze, trying as always not to crumple under its intensity. When Thorin finally spoke, his voice was light, almost incredulous - the same tenor it always took on when Bilbo said something Thorin wasn’t expecting.

“I am always surprised by you.”

Bilbo couldn’t see his face as well since they had moved towards the edge of the exhibit, but he could hear the smile in Thorin’s voice. A giddy feeling bloomed inside his chest.

“Is that a good thing?” Bilbo asked, voice low and flirtier than he had intended.

He heard Thorin chuckle in the darkness beside him as they walked.

“More and more,” he answered cryptically, and before Bilbo could contemplate the meaning of his response, Fíli seemed to materialize at his side with his younger brother.

They had apparently already seen the entire exhibit and were ready to move on to the next section of the museum. 

“So tell me more of this love for plants that your mother fostered in you. Were you ever interested in botany?” Thorin said, a quick and measured change in tone that Bilbo noted in the presence of his nephews.

“Well, never academically…” he began, speeding his gait as Kíli grabbed his hand impatiently and began to pull him towards the next exhibit. “Yes, yes, I’m coming...Anyway, it was more of a hobby for me.”

Bilbo regaled him with tales of the veritable indoor jungle he had grown up with in his mother’s house, the little greenhouse she’d built years ago where he’d spent summer mornings hiding away and reading his books (now sitting in a dilapidated pile in the backyard), and his teenage years spent wandering through the woods with an almanac of plants and a leather bound journal. He left out the part about doing this alone all through the summer, because he was relatively friendless. 

Thorin listened intently, eyes never leaving Bilbo’s face despite the new display around them. He waved Fíli and Kíli off absently when the older brother told him they were going to go explore. 

“Now this will  _ definitely  _ sound silly to you, but...eh,” Bilbo paused, rubbing the back of his neck as he studied a diorama of  _ homo erectus,  _ an early ancestor of humans. “Plants were...kind of my only friends for a while. I know that’s quite sad, I promise I’m a well adjusted adult now that has friends. A friend. Anyway. I get it, is what I mean to say. I feel a very strong connection towards...the earth, and growing things. I think it’s natural. For...for people that care very deeply...about things.”

Thorin nodded, and he didn’t wear the expression of pity that Bilbo had expected and dreaded. He simply looked understanding.

“It is difficult being friendless as a child. I think that’s part of it too - you gain a closer connection to the world around you being so often alone,” he said, glancing up at the diorama before them. “I was lucky enough to have Dis. Fíli and Kíli have eachother,”

Both Bilbo and Thorin glanced over at the boys, Kíli attempting to climb the railing of a display for a better view while Fíli held him back easily with two fingers through the belt loop on the back of his pants. Thorin rolled his eyes before turning back to face the display. He glowered at the squat, ape-like figure before him.

“It would have been much simpler to be born as one of these creatures,” he mumbled, and Bilbo laughed, a deep guffaw that surprised Thorin and caused him to turn his glare on Bilbo, who only laughed harder in response.

“S-Sorry,” Bilbo gasped, covering his smile with his hand. “It’s just, you looked like you wanted to throttle that thing.”

Thorin continued to glare at him but his eyebrow quirked upwards and there was no heat in his eyes.

“It would have been a simpler existence indeed. But back then, being friendless probably would’ve gotten you eaten by carnivorous megafauna,” Bilbo mused, pointing to a different display with a forebodingly large saber-toothed tiger, stalking a neanderthal-looking figure in tall grass. 

Bilbo noticed Kíli and Fíli were standing nearby the display and called them over before continuing. 

“Here, we’ll make a lesson out of this - it’s always a good time for an anthropology lesson!” he sang, ignoring Fíli’s groan of protest. “When early hominids became bipedal,” he began, pointing to the display behind him of the  _ homo erectus, “ _ \- or, when they learned to walk on two feet, they sacrificed their ability to move around and escape quickly in the forest canopy. Their environment changed from arboreal - in trees - to open spaces, like savannahs. They became easier targets.”

Kíli’s eyes went wide as he stared at the saber-tooth tiger, taking in Bilbo’s words.

“Social groups had already been an important part of the social dynamic of these creatures - even in primates today we can see that! But it was even more important to have a tight group of other people to help keep you safe and keep everyone protected.”

“Tell us more, professor,” Thorin said with a smirk, crossing his arms and leaning back against the railing.

Bilbo felt a blush rise to his cheeks at the title, and apparently  _ that  _ was a kink he didn’t realize he had. He cleared his throat and aimed a weak glare at Thorin.

“I intend to.”

As they walked through the rest of the exhibit Bilbo narrated their tour with all of his knowledge of human evolution, collected over the years from anthropology classes. He got particularly excited when they reached a diorama showing early hominids forming and using tools - that was closer to his area of expertise. Fíli and Kíli were surprisingly attentive, and Thorin was paying him even closer attention. Whenever Bilbo got particularly excited about something and his voice got louder or his gesticulations wilder, he couldn’t help but notice that Thorin’s lips curled into a smile at the corners and his eyes sparkled with....something. 

By the time they’d reached the end of the exhibit, which had flowed into another installation on prehistoric megafauna, Bilbo was feeling pretty drained, and the boys looked like they were losing steam. Fíli had parked himself on a bench and was scrolling through his phone. Kíli was standing immobile in front of a display, nose pressed to the glass and eyelids heavy.

Bilbo got Thorin’s attention and gestured over at the boys.

“I think it’s lunch time.”

~

The boys were tired but insisted that they get lunch in the museum so that they could continue to look at the remaining exhibits once they were done. Bilbo cringed at the inflated prices on the cafe menu, but it didn’t seem to bother Thorin, and the cafe was not as stuffed full of people as it usually was on Saturdays, so he didn’t voice any objections.

Kíli had taken a frustratingly long time ordering his food, Bilbo shooting apologetic looks at the cashier as he changed his mind six times in a row. He also took about 5 minutes selecting the precise bottle of milk he wanted from the refrigerated section, before abandoning all of them for a juice box. Once he had finally decided, Thorin, exasperated, sent him off with Fíli to go grab a table. Bilbo ruffled Kíli’s hair as he went by and chuckled before turning back to the cashier, a young woman in her late twenties. 

“Sorry about that. He’s sweet, but very overwhelmed by choices,” Bilbo said, smiling as Thorin silently paid for the food.

The cashier chuckled and waved a hand in response. “Oh, it’s no bother. I’ve got a little one of my own, he can’t decide on anything that’s more than 2 choices.”

She pulled the printed receipt out and placed it in front of Thorin to sign. “Your boys are very cute, though. You make a lovely couple,” she said, smiling, and handing Bilbo a card with a number. “Your food will be ready when the number’s called, have a good day!”

She spun around and headed back into the kitchen before Bilbo could fully process what she’d said.

When realization dawned on him, he felt heat flood his face and a nervous giggle escape him. He turned to catch a glimpse of Thorin’s expression, and was surprised (and a little delighted) to see the tips of his ears and his cheeks were bright red. 

“I’m going to go find Kíli now,” Thorin said, stilted, avoiding eye contact with Bilbo as he hurried his pace over to the eating area.

Bilbo followed him, mostly amused by the interaction more than anything, and basking (just a little) in Thorin’s adorable embarrassment. When they got to the table, Fíli asked why Thorin’s face looked like a tomato, which only caused his uncle’s cheeks to turn an even deeper shade of red as he scowled in response. Bilbo couldn’t help the laughter that escaped him in a joyful burst.

“Oh, shut up,” Thorin mumbled, as Fíli stared on, confused.

Bilbo didn’t care if it didn’t last forever, right now, he was a part of the Durin’s lives, and he was loving every moment of it.

~

After lunch they explored another few exhibits, including a live butterfly room that delighted both Bilbo and the boys. Thorin seemed slightly less amused as his hair was covered in the iridescent insects, though Bilbo thought it made him look like some sort of beautiful forest king. It occurred to him that Thorin would make a great Oberon, and he wouldn’t mind playing opposite him as Puck. He thankfully kept that observation to himself.

After another hour in the museum, Thorin and Bilbo had both collapsed on a cushioned bench in the lobby, unable to go on any longer. Fíli seemed ready to leave as well, but Kíli whined in protest for what verged on almost too long before Thorin said his name in a deep, warning tone and that had been that.

On the drive back to the townhouse, Bilbo chuckled when he spotted the youngest Durin fast asleep in the back seat through the rear view mirror. 

“Looks like someone was all talk,” he said in a low voice, gesturing to the back seat.

Thorin glanced in the rear view mirror and smiled, shaking his head. “He often is.”

Bilbo could feel himself drifting a little as the smooth hum of Thorin’s fancy hybrid car lulled him. He suddenly remembered that Thorin had stayed up all night working and felt a bit guilty that he was the one driving the car. He imagined that Thorin was unlikely to accept help unless forced, so there wasn’t much that could be done.

When they arrived back at the townhouse, Thorin gently lifted Kíli’s sleeping form from the back of the car and carried him inside. With Thorin’s build, it looked like he could easily grab his nephew with one arm and sling him over his shoulder like a bag of flour, but he was very careful with Kíli’s small form. He carried Kíli up the main staircase and returned a few minutes later. Fíli had slunk off to his room - potentially to take a nap too, though he would never admit it - and the two were alone downstairs.

Late afternoon light streamed in through the floor to ceiling windows as Thorin took a seat across from Bilbo on the couch in the drawing room. Bilbo tried not to think about the last time they’d both been sitting on that particular couch together. When the cold chill of anxiety began to creep up his esophagus he spoke to give his mind a distraction.

“You kind of look like you could use a nap too,” he quipped.

Thorin chuckled, leaning back into the cushions.

“I definitely could. But unfortunately, naps are a luxury and not for old men like me.”

“You’re not that old.”

“I’m too old for a nap.”

Bilbo scoffed at that, crossing his arms.

“You are never too old for a nap.”

Thorin rolled his head to the side to smile at Bilbo with slitted eyes. They slipped closed after a moment, but a smirk remained on his lips. Bilbo sighed and crossed his hands on his belly, stretching his feet. After a minute of silence, Bilbo turned to look at Thorin and saw that the latter’s breath had slowed and his eyes remained closed. His face had gone slack. 

Bilbo rolled his eyes and couldn’t help the smile that his lips twitched into at the sight. He got up as quietly as he could, picked up Fíli’s book on Erebor still sitting on the coffee table, and moved over to the reading chair at the other end of the room. He cast one more glance at Thorin’s sleeping form, then frowned - an internal debate playing out in his head.

After a moment, he placed the book down and walked back over to where Thorin was peacefully dozing. Bilbo pulled the soft, knitted grey blanket off the back of the couch and gingerly draped it over Thorin, silently pleading with him not to wake up. Thorin hardly stirred, and nestled deeper into the couch cushion. Bilbo swallowed, throat dry, and turned away before he could stare any longer.

With one last wistful glance backward, he headed back to his reading chair and dug into the tome on Erebor once more.

~

About an hour later - or so Bilbo guessed - Thorin’s head, a mess of tangled curls popped up from the couch with a delirious expression. Bilbo eyed him from over the top of his book, eyebrow arched.

“Good morning. Sleep well?” he called.

Thorin did not answer, but blinked a few times in confusion, squinting at the fading afternoon light before tugging at the throw atop him and squinting at that instead.

Bilbo quickly looked down after that, cheeks coloring and hoping that Thorin wouldn’t comment on it. The latter evidently decided not to, and after a few more minutes he rose, stretching. Bilbo pretended not to notice the tanned line of skin on his hips that became visible as his sweater rode up. 

“What time is it?” Thorin finally mumbled in a gruff, sleep-addled voice that sent a little shiver down Bilbo’s spine.

“Er...half past 4? I believe,” he checked his watch and nodded.

“Bollocks.”

Bilbo snorted out a laugh, covering his mouth after. Thorin usually didn’t swear.

“Ugh.” Thorin sat back down on the couch, running a hand through his hair and looking even more exhausted than when he’d dozed off. “Bombur doesn’t work on the weekends; I need to make dinner for the boys.”

Bilbo bit his lip, brow knitting in sympathy. He had planned on going home pretty soon, but if he was honest, he was looking for reasons to stay...surely it wouldn’t be an imposition if he was helping out.

“I’ll stay and help you,” he said, flipping the book shut and placing it on the chair behind him as he rose.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, you’ve already spent your Saturday here…” Thorin trailed off. Perhaps it was because he was so tired, but Bilbo noticed there wasn’t much conviction in his tone. He leveled an even gaze at Thorin, eyes searching.

_ Do you want me to stay? _ He didn’t say, but the thought ran through his head like an echo, the words dancing at the tip of his tongue.

“Well I insist,” he said finally. “Besides, in your state, you’re likely to burn down the kitchen.”

Thorin started to sputter in response when Bilbo interrupted him instead.

“Come on. I have an idea. It’s not as fancy as you’re used to, but it’ll do.”

~

A few minutes later Bilbo was puttering around the kitchen, bouncing back and forth between the pantry, cabinets, and refrigerator while Thorin tried - and failed - to stay out of the way. He was leaning against the marble kitchen island, his looming, burly form filling out so much more space in the vacuous kitchen than Bilbo’s - when Bilbo nearly smacked right into him when he turned.

He huffed, crossing his arms. Thorin, having already been told to move a few times, simply offered up a sheepish expression.

“Alright. I’m going to give you a job. Can you dice some onions?”

There was a worryingly long pause before Thorin answered.

“...yes?”

“Why are you saying it like it’s a question, Thorin?”

“I can dice an onion.”

Thorin looked indignant. A few errant curls were still bent at odd angles and sticking out from where he’d fallen asleep on the couch. The overall effect was a serious reduction in  _ gravitas  _ and an almost unfair level of cuteness.

“Okay...well, here you go,” Bilbo said after a moment, placing a sweet onion on the cutting board in front of Thorin.

Bilbo started to mince some garlic on another board and watched Thorin as he slowly, clumsily cut the onion in half, struggling for some time to get the skin off before continuing. Bilbo tried and failed to suppress a giggle, which earned him a glare from Thorin. 

“Shut up. I don’t cook very often,” Thorin grumbled, but he seemed more embarrassed than annoyed.

Bilbo smiled warmly, his expression shifting as he scooted closer to Thorin.

“I know. You’re busy with a lot of other things. Can I show you a trick?” he said, his tone kind.

Thorin nodded.

Bilbo slid a little closer and gently took the knife from Thorin’s hands, flipping the halved onion flat onto the board and cutting horizontal and then vertical slices into it.

“If you do it this way, with the root intact, you can dice it easy peasy. We just do some horizontal cuts over the top towards the root to finish it up and...voila!” 

Thorin’s brows were knit in concentration as he watched Bilbo’s hands. Bilbo offered him the knife and Thorin grabbed the other half of the onion, placing it on the board as Bilbo had and then hesitating with the knife.

“Like this,” Bilbo gently guided his hand to the correct position, and reveled, selfishly, for a moment in the warmth of the other’s skin. 

“Thanks,” Thorin mumbled, and when Bilbo smiled up at him, he noticed an unmistakable dusting of pink across Thorin’s cheeks that caused a heat to flare inside of him.

His fingers lingered over Thorin’s for a moment - Thorin’s hand still beneath his own - before slowly drawing them back, his thumb grazing at the skin as it went. He could have sworn that he felt Thorin’s breath hitch from their point of contact, and his own pulse quickened in response.

Feeling a little lightheaded, he turned around and checked on the plump tomatoes stewing on the stove, poking them with a wooden spoon and pretending not to notice Thorin’s gaze practically burning into his back. They worked in silence for a few minutes, and when Bilbo peeked over his shoulder Thorin had turned his rapt attention back to the onion and was concentrating very hard on cutting it neatly.

Bilbo smiled and shook his head, ducking down into the cabinets to grab a few more ingredients.

About 15 minutes later, Bilbo had the onions and garlic simmering in a splash of red wine, and Thorin was back in fully-obstructing mode, drawn by the warm aroma. Once Bilbo added the stewed tomatoes, he began plucking leaves of fresh basil. Thorin materialized over his left shoulder, his long hair tickling Bilbo’s neck as he leaned in.

“What are you adding?” Thorin asked, voice low and close to Bilbo’s ear.

Bilbo swallowed, determined not to crack, if this was a game Thorin wanted to play.

“Basil. And some dried oregano. A shake of red pepper flakes. I would do more, but I wouldn’t want to upset your delicate constitution,” Bilbo replied as dryly as he could.

Thorin audibly scoffed, and Bilbo bit his lip not to grin as he pictured the other’s affronted expression. He actually leaned back for a moment, before drawing near again, this time bracing himself on the counter with his left arm, effectively boxing Bilbo in on one side.

“ _ Excuse me?”  _ Thorin began in a threatening tone, and if he didn’t know Thorin’s antics as well as he now did, he might have actually been a bit scared. “My  _ delicate  _ constitution?”

“Well, I just haven’t really seen you partake in...anything with many Scovilles, to speak of. That is. Er...at least I don’t think so,” Bilbo said, faltering.

Thorin chuckled lowly before responding.

“Relax, Mr. Baggins. I’m only teasing you,” he began, and Bilbo was struck for the second time that day with a tidal wave of unexpected desire upon hearing Thorin address him formally. “Besides it’s probably for the best, I admittedly can’t handle a lot of heat. But I would like to learn to cook a bit more on my own, so if you wouldn’t mind the narration…”

“Of course not,” Bilbo said with a tight smile, turning away from Thorin a little quickly after realizing how close the imposing figure was to him.

He cleared his throat before continuing. 

“So I...add the dried herbs now, I like to add the fresh basil a little later so the flavor is fresher. And you cover it up and let it cook down.”

Thorin leaned over his shoulder to get a better look as Bilbo sprinkled in ingredients. The latter bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, wanting to scream just a little bit. He squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment in frustration - Thorin was seriously killing him; if this clueless man kept standing so close to him, Bilbo was not sure how much longer his self-control could hold out.

Finally, he turned to his left to face Thorin, the latter’s arm still blocking Bilbo’s passage to the other side of the kitchen. He looked up at Thorin - a considerably higher angle with him standing so close - and quirked a brow. Thorin returned his gaze.

“Thorin?”

Thorin’s eyelashes fluttered just slightly, big blue eyes staring intently into Bilbo’s. Bilbo once again suppressed the urge to scream.

“Yes?”

“...I need to get past you.”

At such close proximity, Bilbo could tell with absolute certainty that Thorin’s cheeks reddened as he turned to the side, one hand traveling up to rub at the back of his neck as he cast his gaze downward. Bilbo couldn’t believe how quickly the man switched from flirty, confident behavior to such bashfulness, but it only seemed to endear him to Thorin even more.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You got my brother to cook!” came a voice from the doorway, causing both inhabitants of the room to jump.

Smiling a toothy grin, Dís stood in the doorway, looking elegant as ever in a long blue peacoat with her hair falling in smooth dark waves around her.

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile back in return, despite feeling like he was caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

“Dis,” Thorin declared, and walked around the kitchen island to embrace his sister. “You made it home after all.” He paused for a moment, tense. “Everything is...okay?”

Dís nodded quickly and her smile faltered, eyes slipping over to Bilbo for a millisecond and then back to Thorin. “I’ll fill you in later. Not much change to report.”

Dís pulled him into a fiercely tight hug, if the little “oof” of breath that escaped Thorin was any indication.

“The boys will be so happy to see you,” Thorin said as he pulled back from the embrace.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to make it home this weekend or not...I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but thought it would be a fun surprise if I dropped in unannounced. Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” she said, looking over at Bilbo and bouncing her eyebrows.

Bilbo hoped he didn’t look too guilty as he struggled to keep an embarrassed smile from spreading over his face. Thorin said nothing, but Bilbo could see from behind that the tips of his ears were red. 

“Not at all,” Bilbo replied smoothly after a moment. “We were just making some dinner. The boys are absolutely pooped from being diligent museum-goers today. I’m sure they’ll lose their minds once they find out you’re here…”

“I’ll go let them know,” Thorin mumbled, slipping from the room before Bilbo could protest.

Dís wheeled on Bilbo with the quiet grace of a panther and he swallowed nervously. Both siblings were beautiful, but it was clear who was the more svelte of the two. She gave him a smirk and walked over to the stove, tipping the lid off to peek inside.

“I really never thought I’d see the day where Thorin willingly participated in making a meal,” she started, tone casual.

Bilbo was wary; he wasn’t sure exactly how long Dís had been standing in threshold before she made herself known, but he was painfully aware of exactly how close he’d been standing to her brother moments before.

“He was actually very helpful. He’s a bit hopeless with cutting onions, but we’re taking it one step at a time.”

Dís snorted with laughter at the quip, a hearty belly laugh that reminded him so much of Kíli for a moment that it caught him by surprise. 

“Well, thank you for your charity work, Mr. Baggins. Teaching the hopeless how to fend for themselves,” she teased.

Bilbo snickered as he reached for a pot on a low shelf, box of pasta in hand. 

“Although I’m not all that surprised that Thorin is such an...eager student for your lessons.”

Bilbo slowly stood up, placing the pot on the stove. He wasn’t sure how to respond and a nervous laugh escaped his lips in lieu of any verbal retort.

Dís carried on, smiling wickedly. “You know, I haven’t seen my brother this close with anyone outside of the family in a long, long time…”

Bilbo felt his heart race in his chest, still speechless. He wasn’t sure if Dís was about to threaten him or tease him. She, in turn, seemed not to notice his distress, shrugging out of her peacoat and tossing it over a barstool.

“It’s clear you two have a...very special relationship,” when she finally met Bilbo’s panicked eyes again, her expression softened. “Oh, don’t worry. I just wanted to make sure you know...my brother is a lot more sensitive than he seems. Be careful with him.”

Bilbo cleared his throat nervously before speaking. “Uh...erm, Dís...I’m not exactly...Well, see I think you might have the wrong idea, Thorin and I...er, Thorin is my boss. We, have nothing but a purely professional relationship. Well, I suppose we’re friends as well. But really, nothing, er…untoward is…”

Dís laughed again, this time her bright, wind-chime laugh that he’d heard when he first met her.

“Oh, Bilbo. It’s alright, you’re not in trouble,” she held her well-manicured hands out to him, palms up. “I just have to watch out for my baby brother. Consider it good advice for the future.”

Just as Bilbo was racking his fumbling mind for anything at all to say in response, he heard the sound of Kíli and Fíli flying down the stairs from down the hallway and sighed a breath of relief as they came tumbling into the kitchen.

“Mum!” they screamed, almost in unison, and latched onto her with what should have been enough force to bowl her over, but she somehow remained standing.

The anxiety Bilbo had been experiencing before seemed to dissolve in an instant, as a wave of melancholia washed over him. Seeing Fíli and Kíli running to embrace Dís awoke memories in him of his own mother, and he was overcome with sadness. Thorin entered the room and Bilbo quickly turned, busying himself with starting the water boiling for the pasta.

Bilbo did not notice Thorin return to his side as Fíli and Kíli regaled their mother with the day’s events. He started when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Thorin hovering beside him, looking worried - evidently he had caught a glimpse of Bilbo’s face before he whipped around to try to hide it.

“Are you alright?” he said quietly, voice pitched low enough that only Bilbo could hear. 

Thorin’s worried tone caused tears to prick at his eyes - much to his mortification - and he blinked rapidly in a furious attempt to fight them back. He nodded quickly, tucking his chin down into his chest and taking a deep, shuddering breath to collect himself.

“I just - it was just. I saw the boys run to Dís, and it...I was thinking of...of my mum. But it’s fine, I’m fine, really. I’m fine.”

He was most certainly not fine - but he was not about to humiliate himself breaking down tearfully in front of Thorin, his sister, and Fíli and Kíli. He would die from the mortification. Bilbo felt a warm hand at the back of his arm, above his elbow and turned to look at Thorin. He’d hoped he didn’t look too pathetic holding back tears, but from the pained expression Thorin was giving him he’d say he hadn’t been too successful.

He nervously glanced over Thorin’s shoulder and was relieved to see that the boys had already corralled Dís out of the room - or perhaps it was the other way around? - just in time.

His eyes slid back to Thorin’s and then he cast them down immediately - not emotionally ready to be subject to that intense stare, now full of such care and compassion that it felt likely to bowl him over. He released a weak, wet laugh and sniffled once, looking away.

“I’m fine, really. It’s quite silly, nothing to be worried about.”

When Thorin did not respond for several seconds, Bilbo hesitantly met his gaze once more, and struggled to stay grounded faced with those stormy eyes.

“...I’m so sorry,” Thorin said slowly, purposefully, sincerely, and Bilbo felt the wave of sadness return, crushing his throat like a vice.

The tears did come then, just a few, no maelstrom - but it was enough.

Before he knew what was going on, Thorin had pulled him into a tight hug, flush against his chest - Bilbo’s head tucked beneath his chin. He almost wanted to laugh at the irony - this is all he’d wanted to do all day - but not like this, with his eyes puffy and his nose running as he sniffled grossly.

He took a few calming breaths and let himself sink into Thorin’s chest. He was so much softer to hug than Bilbo could’ve ever imagined. His arms were hard and heavy around Bilbo’s shoulders, but he felt soft and warm to lean into. He wondered if Thorin could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage from their point...points of contact. He wondered how long he could get away with staying right there, not moving. The longer he remained in Thorin’s arms, the more he wanted to tilt his head back up, grab Thorin’s jaw and kiss him....

And then Thorin pulled back, gently, slowly, looking away as he did so, clearing his throat. Bilbo tried not to let his face fall.

“I’m sorry if that was…”

“No, no it’s...it’s okay. I uh...appreciated it,” Bilbo felt his cheeks color for the umpteenth time that night. “Sometimes a hug can do a lot. My mum thought so too.”

Thorin smiled, that small, secret smile that he sometimes gave to Bilbo - and Bilbo’s heart fluttered. They stared at each other for a long time - what might have been a few seconds but what felt like minutes. Bilbo’s senses crept back to his conscious mind, he felt the spatter from the boiling water on the stove, and blinked once, then turned back to face the stove.

“I’ll...I’ve got to um, finish this,” he muttered, dumping the dry pasta into the pot. “Why don’t you get the boys to set the table?”

There was a long pause before Thorin answered, but Bilbo didn’t turn to look at him. He didn’t dare - there was something brewing between them, and it was about to boil over.

“I’ll do that,” Thorin said, finally, and slid behind Bilbo, sandwiched between the counter and the kitchen island, placing his hand on the small of Bilbo’s back for just a moment as he passed.

Bilbo’s breath hitched in surprise, but before he could release it Thorin had already quietly slipped from the room.

He let out his breath in a shuddering sigh, leaning over the stove for a moment as he processed the quell of emotions he’d experienced in the past hour or so.

“Fuck me,” he declared to the empty room, listening to the echo of the first few raindrops beginning to fall against the windows.


	8. Chapter VII

The endless grey drizzle of late fall in London slowly transitioned to flurries, and the occasional nasty sleet as the holiday season approached. Fíli and Kíli only had a few more weeks of classes before the holiday break, and Thorin - who had been working even longer hours than usual - had planned to take some time off as well. 

Something had definitively shifted in the dynamic of Bilbo and Thorin’s relationship - it had started with the evening they spent together when Bilbo’s car had broken down, and escalated the day at the museum. There was a tension that pulled them together like planets in orbit, and an electricity that buzzed just beneath the surface when they spoke or interacted.

Bilbo was sure of it now - he didn’t understand why someone like Thorin could be attracted to someone like him, but he wasn’t blind, and he could recognize the look in Thorin’s eyes. It was undoubtedly attraction.

It both terrified and excited Bilbo, but more than anything, it made him impatient. To his immense frustration, he and Thorin hadn’t been alone even  _ once  _ since the day they’d gone to the museum, and it had been weeks. Dís had been around more than usual, and Thorin spent many evenings holed up with her in his study, having hushed discussions for hours on end. Bilbo realized that something important must have been going on in Erebor, and he was curious about it, but he also selfishly wished that he could have some time alone with Thorin.

It seemed that Thorin felt the same way, too. There was an unspoken urgency, an impatience that flowed between them in shared glances across the dinner table or smiles that they tried to hide. It was the feeling of having a secret that no one else knew about, but not being able to talk about it with the one person who did. It was liable to drive Bilbo crazy.

The closest they’d come to being alone together was one evening a few days prior when Bilbo had been downstairs reading. When Thorin arrived, Bilbo had nervously jumped to his feet and met him at the door. He felt silly, waiting for Thorin to come home and then running to the door like a puppy when he did. Thorin looked surprised and Bilbo felt a bit embarrassed, but recovered when the latter’s expression relaxed into a warm smile, eyes dark and shining. 

“Hello,” he’d greeted Bilbo, his tone low and intimate.

“Hi,” Bilbo giggled, feeling ridiculous. He tried to think of something to say to explain his presence. Some smooth obfuscation to charm Thorin. He came up blank.

Thorin pursed his lips and frowned for a moment, the expression seeming almost acted. He reached forward with one hand to the side of Bilbo’s neck, tugging on the fabric. Bilbo froze, felt his cheeks grow hot as Thorin raised the other hand, tugging at the other side of his collar, his expression one of over-exaggerated concentration.

Thorin’s fingertips brushed against Bilbo’s neck as he pulled back, surveying his work with satisfaction. He laid his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and patted, once.

“There. Your collar was crooked,” he drawled, with a barely contained smirk.

“Sure it was,” Bilbo mumbled, face red. Thorin’s eyes sparkled.

Then, the thundering crash of Kíli’s feet tumbling down the stairs, and the brief moment of intimacy with Thorin had ended. There hadn’t been any more alone time since.

Bilbo sighed as he reminisced, pulling out his phone and scrolling through the apps aimlessly. He opened his messenger and realized he hadn’t responded to one of Ori’s texts, sent a few days ago. Poor Ori had been so busy, but had still been taking the time to check in on Bilbo. Bilbo felt guilty for not responding, but he’d been throwing himself into work, and spent the rest of his time day-dreaming about Thorin. 

He opened the message, which was a short few sentences, telling Bilbo that he’d have some time off soon once the semester ended, and asking him how he was doing and if he wanted to hang out soon.

Bilbo began typing out a reply, telling his friend that he was fine but swamped with work, and that they should definitely catch up as soon as possible. He thought for a moment, tapping his pen against his lips, before typing out: “What about this weekend? I don’t have any big plans. We could do takeout and Star Trek. Just like the old days :)” 

Ori responded within a few minutes, which made Bilbo smile. 

“YES!!!!” was all the message said.

~

Bilbo was sitting at his kitchen table, cozy in a pair of sweats and prepping a lesson by the dim light of the window when he received a text. The notification that lit up the screen surprised him - the number wasn’t saved in his phone, but the text began with the words “Bilbo! This is Gandalf…” Releasing a surprised huff, Bilbo unlocked his phone to read the rest. 

Gandalf, in a bloviating paragraph of text that Bilbo squinted to read, explained that he had gotten Bilbo’s number a few months ago from Thorin, and that he was returning to London that week and would be flying to Erebor shortly after and returning again in time for Christmas. He also inquired as to whether Bilbo would be available to meet for a coffee that Friday afternoon before he left town again. Even with the enormity of the text, Gandalf was still frustratingly vague, writing that he “had some intriguing information” that Bilbo would find “most enlightening.”

Sighing, Bilbo quickly typed out a reply. Gandalf was an odd fellow, but agreeable enough. Besides, he really owed the man for getting him this job - which he would be sure to thank him profusely for - and for introducing him to Thorin. He decided he ought not to profusely thank Gandalf for that, even though he was potentially more grateful for that than the job itself.

In his reply, he agreed to meet at noon so that he’d be sure to have enough time to pick up the boys from school afterwards. He knew Gandalf could be loquacious, but he was certain it would be enough time. What information could he have that Bilbo would find all that  _ enlightening? _

~

That Friday morning was gray. The air had a bite to it, not terribly cold, but the thick belly of the clouds hung down, heavy, blocking the sun and casting gloom over the city. Bilbo had been trying not to let the short days and lack of sun (even less than usual) get to him, but days like these were particularly difficult.

He assumed it must be the same for Fíli, who sat at the small table in the kitchen, flopping his spoon into his bowl of cereal over and over again.

It was 7:30 AM, and Bilbo was getting the boys ready for school. Thorin had texted him the night before and said that he’d need to leave early for the office and asked if Bilbo could get Fíli and Kíli to class. Bilbo, only slightly miffed at the prospect of getting up so early (and not even getting to see Thorin) had agreed, but ever since he’d roused Fíli from his sleep the older sibling had been in a silent and brooding funk.

The end of that thought was punctuated by yet another loud “thunk” as the spoon clattered into the mostly full bowl of cereal.

“Fíli…” Bilbo began, sitting down at the table. “You know we have to leave very soon. Are you sure that’s all you want?”

“‘M not hungry…” Fíli muttered, looking down.

“If you’re sure…”

Fíli rolled his eyes, sighed, and stood up from the table. He trudged out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.

“Yikes,” Bilbo said aloud, to no one in particular. He glanced over to meet Kíli’s eyes, who gazed back at him with an uncharacteristically sad and sober expression.

“Bilbo, don’t be mad at Fíli,” he said, big brown eyes going watery.

Bilbo swallowed, rubbing at the back of his neck. The kid was good. “I’m...not mad at him, Kíli. Just wondering what’s going on.”

Kíli’s face screwed up in thought, or maybe frustration for a moment before he sighed and placed his spoon on the table.

“It’s the anniversary of our da’s death. Fíli hates it. He asked Uncle Thorin if he could stay home from school today and he said no. So he’s mad. But mostly…” Kíli looked to the doorway for a moment, nervous, and then his eyes flicked back to Bilbo. “...mostly sad.” 

Bilbo felt something twist inside of his chest and blinked rapidly, a few times, trying not to let the sudden melancholy manifest in tears.

“Hmm...well...if your uncle wants you to go to school, I unfortunately have to take you to school. But maybe we can do something fun afterwards?”

Kíli nodded, a small smile on his lips.

A few moments later Fíli appeared at the doorway, backpack slung over his shoulder and scowl firmly in place.

“I’m ready to go.”

The car ride to school was an exceptionally awkward one. Fíli sat in stony-faced silence in the back of Bilbo’s car, staring out the window. Bilbo’s eyes flitted back and forth between the road and his reflection in the rear view mirror. He felt torn. He could tell Fíli was in pain, and really needed some help right now. If it were up to him, he would’ve absolutely let the teen skip school. He had practically perfect attendance, why not?

But he’d learned from experience how touchy Thorin could be about matters concerning his family, and his  _ authority  _ over his family. Bilbo didn’t like it, but talking to Thorin about what was “right” for Fíli and Kíli had often had disastrous results in the past.

He was pretty annoyed that Thorin hadn’t even bothered to tell him about the significance of the day before he’d shown up. Perhaps because he’d realized Bilbo would try to convince him to let Fíli stay home, and he probably would have been successful. He seemed to be getting better and better at getting what he wanted out of Thorin…

Bilbo physically shook his head to banish the thought, feeling embarrassed. Now was really not the time to let his mind wander. After a few more minutes of silence, punctuated only by the creaks and squeaks of Bilbo’s car and the sounds of traffic, Bilbo cleared his throat.

“So...Fíli...I was telling Kíli that maybe we could do something fun after school, go somewhere instead of doing afternoon lessons.”

Bilbo glanced back up at Fíli’s reflection in the rear view mirror. He had turned away from the window but was now looking down at his hands, brow knitted. Bilbo could tell he was trying to muster up an answer. Sometimes it was just too hard to pretend to be happy.

“We don’t have to tell Thorin. Is there some place you’d like to go after school? We can do anything you want.”

“Anything?!” Kíli piped up, clutching at the back of the passenger’s seat.

“Within reason. Eh -” he wagged a finger in Kíli’s direction. “We are not going swimming, for the millionth time, it is the middle of winter.”

Kíli harumphed but went quiet. Fíli still did not respond, but he met Bilbo’s eyes in the mirror for a moment and shrugged. It was a start.

“Well, tell you what, you don’t need to come up with an answer right now. Why don’t you think about it today at school, and when I come pick you up, you can tell me what you’ve decided on.”

Fíli hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, catching Bilbo’s eye once more before looking down. Bilbo thought he may have caught the briefest flash of a smile, but he couldn’t be totally sure. He returned his eyes to the road with a small smile of his own.

~

Despite Gandalf’s original request for him and Bilbo to convene at a cafe, the locale where they ended up meeting was a little chai room, the interior decked in lavish purple curtains, a tropical plant sitting happily in the spacious front window. The little restaurant was far out of his way, and it had taken some time for Bilbo to find a parking spot, but Gandalf had insisted upon the venue.

When Bilbo entered, the heady smell of incense filled his nose, and then on second inhale, warm baking bread, toasting spices, and steamed milk. His mouth watered instinctively.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, even with the gloom outside. Many of the walls featured glistening mosaics, dark tapestries with swirling mandalas hung elsewhere. Plush, beaded cushions were arranged on the floor around low tables. Several of these tables were in niches along the back wall, with the same velvety purple curtains from the front window hung framing the alcoves, for privacy (Bilbo assumed). The whole space was lit with glittering red, yellow, and orange hanging glass lanterns, and flickering tea lights on the tables.

It was lovely, but seemed an odd choice for a quick drink and catching up with a friend. He stood, a bit bewildered, turning in place for only a few minutes before he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and jumped.

He turned to see Gandalf looking at him, a warm smile in place, and exhaled in relief.

“Bilbo! I’m so glad you could make it!” his grin grew, and he pulled Bilbo into a sudden hug.

“Oof” said Bilbo in response, but he smiled. “It’s nice to see you too, Gandalf.”

Gandalf pulled back, smiling and holding him at arm’s length. “Yes, always lovely to see Bella’s boy.”

Bilbo felt a little uncomfortable, but his smile didn’t falter. His older family members and his mother’s old friends could never look at him without bringing her up. Gandalf seemed to sense his discomfort and smiled sympathetically, putting an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and guiding him towards one of the low tables along the back wall, the curtains drawn aside. 

“Now, tell me how things have been going! Do you enjoy your job? I’ve heard that you’re quite adept at it, and that the Durins are quite enamored with you…”

Bilbo smiled, sliding onto a cushion on the raised platform. There was already a pot of chai and two delicate ceramic cups and saucers on the table.

“Yes, I’ve really been enjoying it. And I adore the boys, too. I think I’ve really made a lot of progress with the Durins,” Bilbo scratched at his ear and let out a short little nervous laugh. “The younger ones, I mean. Fíli and Kíli. Not that I haven’t...not that I don’t like the...older ones. Thorin and Dís.”

Gandalf’s bushy eyebrows ascended higher and higher up his face as Bilbo spoke, and Bilbo wasn’t sure he liked the twinkle that appeared in his companion’s eyes.

“Er, anyway. It’s been great, really. I really care about Fíli and Kíli, and this job has really reminded me of why I began teaching in the first place.” Bilbo looked Gandalf in the eyes and smiled. “Thank you, truly, for giving me this opportunity. I know I was a bit...cross about it, in the beginning, but I’m so happy to have done it.”

Gandalf smiled at him, eyes still twinkling, as he poured them both a steaming cup of chai. The milk was foamy and the spicy aroma filled Bilbo’s chest with warmth.

“No need to thank me Bilbo. You’ve helped me help out a friend,” Gandalf paused and sipped at his cup. “I’m very glad you’ve enjoyed the job, though. And have adjusted to the Durins...even the older ones.” Gandalf offered a wink.

Bilbo hoped it was dark enough that Gandalf couldn’t see the color that rose to his cheeks.

“Ah...yes. Well, they do grow on you!” he said, laughing.

Gandalf chuckled in response, eyes bright. “Indeed they do.”

The two sat in companionable silence for a few moments, sipping at the steaming tea, before Bilbo spoke again, picking his words carefully.

“Gandalf...I feel as though...you didn’t just invite me here to catch up. There was something more pressing that you...seemed to want to talk about.”

“Ah...yes...I have quite a bit of information to share with you.” Gandalf glanced up, his eyes flitting around the room. 

He reached up and tugged at the tie on his side of the curtain, letting it fall heavy in front of their booth. He gestured for Bilbo to do the same. Bilbo, incredulous, raised his eyebrows but did so. The space was suddenly much darker, and intimate - the only lighting was the glass mosaic lamp hanging from above and the flickering candle on the table. Gandalf’s expression grew grim.

“I’ll get straight to the point, since I have a lot to tell you and far less time than I’d prefer to do so. Thorin’s grandfather is dying.”

Bilbo flinched back, his heart giving a fearful thud in his chest.

“Perhaps Thorin has been acting a bit moodier than usual? This would be why,” Gandalf continued, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “A friend and family member of Thorin’s has been keeping us well informed on the situation.”

“I...what…” Bilbo started, but Gandalf cut him off.

“Yes, the prospect of Thror’s death has been very difficult for Thorin. Forgive my insensitivity, but it has the potential to be politically disastrous on a national level for Erebor. Not to mention an unethical travesty.”

Bilbo blinked a few times, utterly lost. He waited for Gandalf to go on.

“Ereborian politics are complicated, Bilbo. They seem designed to cause headaches,” Gandalf grumbled. “But here’s what you need to know: Thror’s position as Minister of Culture gives him complete control over the management of cultural heritage in Erebor. Some of the members he’s appointed to high positions in the ministry bribed their way in. It’s no secret - they’re the families that own 90% of Ereborian wealth. They get what they want. And they  _ want  _ Thror’s position. With Thrain out of the way and Thorin here…”

It was like a lightbulb went off in Bilbo’s mind. He remembered what Thorin had told him about the men  _ whispering  _ lies into his grandfather’s ear, clouding his mind, trying to get him to stop the excavations of the Lonely Mountain...it came to him with a cold clarity that sent a chill down his spine.

“Black market antiquities.”

Gandalf nodded, cradling his cup of tea. Bilbo noticed for the first time how frail his hands looked. His eyes traveled upward to his companion’s face, and he saw that Gandalf had dark circles under his eyes, accentuated by the deep creases in his face.

“Yes. We’ve realized this for quite some time, obviously. We knew that they lobbied to shut down the project, we assumed they were stalling, allowing the Minister’s health to grow weaker, and convincing him to turn the project internal, send their own team out to complete excavations. Then they just had to wait until Thror passed away, and elect one of their own to the position, and smuggle the artifacts out of Erebor.”

Gandalf lowered his voice.

“It turns out, we were right, partially. Except someone was hastening the process.”

Bilbo’s eyes grew wide as he comprehended Gandalf’s words. 

“An...assassination attempt?” he whispered, incredulous.

“Yes. It seems the Durins are frequent targets. It has been recently discovered that Thror’s rapidly declining physical and mental health could be attributed to a small amount of tasteless, odorless, colorless poison deposited into his meals every day. It started slowly at first, with signs similar to dementia - his paranoia ran rampant with the consultation of his council of snakes…”

Gandalf’s voice began to rise in righteous fury before he checked himself, sighing deeply.

“The cook poisoning his food admitted to the crime immediately, in tears. She’d been paid anonymously, through a banking app. We assumed it had to be someone in the ministry, but who? And then, a few days later, a member of the Ministry fled the country. Azog.”

The mention of the name sparked something in Bilbo’s memory. He could have sworn he’d heard that name before...maybe something Thorin had said?

“His house has been entirely cleared out. All staff gone. He was last seen heading to the airport.” Gandalf sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have the resources to pursue him any further - the Ereborian law enforcement will do what they can, but I expect that won’t be very much.”

Bilbo chewed on his lip anxiously. “Well...at least you found out who it was? Wait, you said Thror was ‘dying,’ as in, he’s not dead yet? Is there any chance that he could recover, now that you’ve figured out it was poison?”

Gandalf’s expression was grim. 

“It is...unlikely. There is a chance, yes. But the daily ingestion of poison for - we believe - a month has severely weakened his mental health, his immune system, and just about all of his major organs.”

“Dear God.”

“Indeed. And I’m afraid...that Azog is only a mercenary for a much bigger problem that we will soon have to deal with….” Gandalf dropped his voice once more, and he actually, to Bilbo’s great consternation, looked frightened. “There is...a man. A wealthy foreigner who lives in Erebor...he is very dangerous. There is not much I can tell you right now, but...Azog was only the beginning. He is determined to get his hands on Erebor’s treasures, and rest assured he will do whatever it takes.”

Bilbo sat silently staring at Gandalf, his heart hammering in his chest. Gandalf seemed afraid. Was Thorin at risk? Were Fíli and Kíli…?

“Gandalf….this is all...horrible, but, why are you telling me all of this? Do I need to worry about the safety of the boys? Of...of Thorin?”

“No. Not as of yet.”

That answer was not particularly comforting to Bilbo. His stomach fluttered with anxiety.

“I’m telling you all of this, because it may very soon become relevant for you. Thorin and the others wanted to wait a little longer before letting you into the loop, but I disagreed. You see, with Thror’s rapidly declining condition, Thorin is thinking about traveling to Erebor in order to take care of his grandfather, and potentially fill the role of Minister of Culture if he passes. At least, for a time,” Gandalf said, quickly raising a hand to quell the shocked protest at Bilbo’s lips.

“It would be temporary. However, during that time, our archaeological team would, as quickly as possible, complete excavations at the temple and get the artifacts out safely to protect them from looters. Hopefully, giving Thorin enough time to find a suitable replacement for the position.”

“B-but...going to Erebor? For how long?! A large scale project like this couldn’t  _ possibly  _ take less than 6 weeks, and what about the boys?! Am I to move in and -”

“Bilbo!” Gandalf’s voice was booming, suddenly, and Bilbo’s mouth snapped closed. “ _ If  _ Thorin decides to do this, as it may be our only viable chance at saving this archaeological site, he will take Fíli and Kíli with him.

“Oh,” Bilbo exhaled, feeling his heart drop into his stomach as he did. Of course Thorin would take them with him. He supposed he was out of a job.

“Bilbo…” Gandalf began, softer, a smile tipping up the corners of his mouth for the first time since their conversation had begun. “I’d like to take  _ you  _ with me when  _ we  _ return to Erebor. I’m leading an excavation crew there of highly experienced workers, and I’d like to hire you as a unit leader for our field techs.”

Bilbo stared at Gandalf in dumbfounded silence. He felt as though he’d just gotten off a rollercoaster. He had about a million questions to ask Gandalf, but the only thing he could say was, “Why me?”

Gandalf tilted his head in confusion, clearly having expected a different reaction. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,  _ why me?  _ You said you’re leading a team of professionals. I’ve done a few summers of fieldwork, a little CRM here and there but...but I’m no expert. And I don’t know that much about Ancient Ereborian archaeology at all, I mean I’ve been doing some research but...”

Bilbo trailed off as Gandalf dug through the messenger bag he’d brought with him. After a moment he produced a thick black 3 ring binder, which he placed on the table.

“Er - what’s that?”

“Reading material, for you.” Gandalf said, smiling. “And don’t be ridiculous. You’re an experienced archaeologist with a strong set of ethics, and I want you to join me. I’ve got workers, and a few specialists, but not many with experience leading small units. Keeping workers organized. We’ll get the job done faster with your help, Bilbo.”

“But...is it...is it alright for me to go?”

Gandalf seemed confused for a moment before realization dawned on his face. HIs expression softened.

“You’re worried that Thorin won’t want you there?”

Bilbo felt his cheeks heat, and he looked away.

“Well I can assure you that’s nonsense as well. Thorin specifically asked that you come.”

Bilbo looked up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. You’d be busier than you’re used to, I’m afraid. Fíli and Kíli do have access to private tutors in Erebor, but Thorin said that he wanted you looking after them and helping them with their homework. You’ve probably noticed by now that he’s prickly about who he allows to take care of his nephews. He’ll be quite preoccupied once we arrive in Erebor. I believe he’s offered up his father’s estate for you and I to stay in.”

Bilbo felt his heart flutter in his chest. Thorin wanted him there. He was never going to leave Bilbo jobless, he wanted to take Bilbo with him. Bilbo couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He looked down to hide it, flipping open the cover of the binder slowly and gazing down at the laminated pages.

“So....when do we leave?”

Gandalf chuckled. “That, unfortunately, I cannot answer. Sometime soon, no doubt. Maybe as early as the new year. Dís has been taking frequent trips to Erebor, not all related to her job. I’ve been in the country for the last two months. We’ve both been monitoring the situation as best we can, but with Thror’s health…”

“So in other words, as soon as possible.”

“Yes. Which is why I took the liberty of filling you in on all of this now. But I doubt that Thorin will be all that bothered. He would’ve had me tell you everything before we left, either way. As I see it, this gives you more time to prepare.”

Bilbo nodded slowly, trying to shove aside the million questions and the flood of emotions that all of this new information had brought to think clearly.

“Bilbo...one more thing,” Gandalf began, looking hesitant. “Part of the reason I’ve given you so much background about the politics behind this...well, is partially to warn you. This could be a bit of a dangerous situation.”

Bilbo felt something flare inside his chest, part fear, part excitement.

“I told you a while back that Thrain died in...rather mysterious circumstances, you remember?”

Bilbo nodded, suddenly remembering his conversation with Bombur on that rainy day his car had broken down. Bombur had told him that Thrain had passed in a horrible accident, falling from a cliff.

“Well, Thorin, myself, and many others believe that his death was no accident. Thrain had headed to the temple, alone, as he often did to check for looting or damage. I told him time after time to take someone with him, but he never listened…” Gandalf trailed off, shaking his head. He looked angry. “Thrain had been to that site a thousand times. He never would have lost his footing. He knew to stay far from the edge. I believe he encountered a looter, and was pushed.”

Bilbo’s mind spun. Thorin’s life was ridiculously complex and tragic, like some sort of soap opera. He shuddered at the thought of Thorin encountering Thrain’s body, crumpled and broken against the jagged rocks of the Lonely Mountain. He was starting to understand just why Thorin was so guarded about anything and everything involving his homeland and family. 

He mulled over his words for a moment before he spoke, slowly and with finality. 

“I accept and understand the risk. I’d like to go with you. I’d like to work on the project.”

A slow smile spread across Gandalf’s face in response to Bilbo’s words.

“That is excellent news. I’ve never known a Baggins to turn down a good adventure.”

~

After Bilbo’s declaration that he would go, he showered Gandalf in questions about the project, the country, and the region where they’d be working. He was almost feverish with excitement. 

Gandalf had started to explain the Durin family tree, since so many of Thorin’s distant cousins and aunts and uncles were involved in the project in various ways. Bilbo was already confused and was sure he’d be overwhelmed when he got there, but was told the most important family members to remember (and impress) were Balin, Thorin’s second cousin, who was the linguistic specialist on site helping with the translation of the Khuzdul runes, and his brother Dwalin, who was head of site security. 

When Bilbo asked how difficult it would be to impress them, Gandalf informed him that Balin would be impressed by Bilbo’s hard work and intelligence, but Dwalin was kind of like a grumpier, broodier version of Thorin. This was not particularly encouraging news, Bilbo thought.

Gandalf gushed about Thrain’s mountaintop estate, where Thorin, Dís, Fíli, and Kíli had all been living before they left Erebor. Bilbo’s imagination ran rampant with the images Gandalf described: soaring windows, a light-filled two story library, huge balconies overlooking a magnificent canyon, and the convenient proximity of some natural hot springs.

Gandalf was describing a summer he’d spent at the massive villa, and all of the trouble that Fíli and Kíli had gotten into when Bilbo had a sudden realization, his stomach dropping.

“Wait, what time is it?” he said weakly, scrambling for his phone. He’d gotten so wrapped up in Gandalf’s stories he hadn’t even been keeping an eye on the time.

He felt fear seize him when his phone screen lit up. School was letting out in 3 minutes. The school was at least a 15 minute drive from the cafe. Panicked, Bilbo untangled himself from his cross-legged position, throwing on his jacket and swiping up the black binder.

“I’m so sorry Gandalf, I need to leave right now, I can’t believe I didn’t catch the time, I’m going to be so late-”

“Oh nonsense, it’s all my fault, prattling on for so long. I’m sorry I kept you, let me know if you have any questions-”

Bilbo was already out of the booth, running across the restaurant and out the door into the late afternoon drizzle.

By the time he’d made it to his car, he’d already tried calling Fíli twice with no response. He tried to calm the panic rising inside of him as the third call went to voicemail.

“Fíli, please pick up,” he said after the beep. “I’m running late to pick you and Kíli up, I’m so sorry - but I’m in the car right now, I’m 15 minutes away. Just stay where you are. Call me back when you get this.”

Bilbo sped like a maniac to the school, earning several honks, dirty looks, and rude gestures for his effort. None of them phased him, though. He kept his eyes on the road but his sense of malaise grew with each passing moment that his phone remained silent.

When he finally pulled up to the school, the regular rush of parents in minivans was gone, with only a few cars in the pick up lane. A few students were scattered around the damp curb, more sheltered beneath the awning by the door. Bilbo yanked the keys out of the ignition and sprung from the car, looking around frantically for Fíli and Kíli. 

Eventually he spotted Kíli, walking towards him. He breathed out a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived when he saw Kíli’s expression, and that no older brother accompanied him. Bilbo ran up to him, clasping his shoulders.

“Kíli! I’m so sorry I’m late. Where is your brother?”

Kíli’s lower lip wobbled and Bilbo felt his heart constrict in his chest.  _ Oh no.  _

“H-he…” Kili began, hiccuping. Bilbo rubbed his back, urging him to continue. “He was real mad when he met me after classes. And then you were late picking us up and…and he got even madder, and he wouldn’t pick up your calls….and he said that you probably just forgot us because y-you don’t care about us…”

Bilbo scrubbed a hand down his face, the guilt and anxiety causing a headache to throb in his temples. He struggled to keep focused as the panic threatened to overtake him. He continued to rub soothing circles on Kíli’s back.

“And then he just left. He wouldn’t let me go with him, when I tried to he yelled at me,” a tear rolled down Kíli’s cheek as he spoke. “He wouldn’t say where he was going, he just stormed off. I’m sorry Bilbo, I’m really sorry. I tried to stop him!”

Bilbo’s mind swam with panic.  _ What the hell do I do? Where did he go?  _

Bilbo ushered Kíli to the car and got back in, fingers fumbling with the phone as he called Fíli a fourth time, then a fifth. Eventually the calls went straight to voicemail. Bilbo cursed, throwing the phone down on the passenger seat. His eyes met Kíli’s in the mirror - the child looked scared. Bilbo released a shaky sigh.

“Okay. Kíli - look at me -” Bilbo turned around to face Kíli. “It’s going to be okay. It is. I think...I need to call your uncle.”

The thought of doing so made Bilbo’s stomach flip.

He braced himself and called Thorin. He picked up after the second ring, which surprised Bilbo. He realized, with shame, that he’d been hoping it would go straight to voicemail. That way he wouldn’t have to face Thorin immediately, like a coward.

“Bilbo, hi. What’s going on, is everything alright?” Thorin’s voice was soft, warm, concerned. It killed Bilbo because he knew that was all about to change.

“Thorin, I...actually, no, we have a problem. Fíli is...he ran away. He was at the school with Kíli about 15 minutes ago and left.”

There was a painful pause before Thorin answered, his tone completely changed.

“What? You don’t know where he is? How did he run away before you got there?”

“I…” Bilbo clenched his jaw as he spoke, guilt and anger and anxiety clawing at his insides. “I was late. I was meeting with Gandalf, and lost track of time, and-”

“I see. So you left my nephews unattended and now one of them is missing.”

Bilbo felt bile creep up his esophagus, burning in the center of his chest.

“I...I’m so sorry. I-”

“I’m coming straight home,” Thorin said, voice cold. “Come to the house and drop off Kíli, then we’ll look for Fíli.”

Thorin hung up the phone before Bilbo could respond.

~

When Bilbo pulled up to the townhouse, Thorin was already standing outside on the steps in a sweeping tan trenchcoat, already glistening from the rain. He looked livid. Bilbo wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him so angry. Their eyes met as Bilbo stepped out of the car and the glare Thorin gave him turned his blood to cold. All of the warmth and affection that those eyes could convey was gone - a cruel, icy blue had taken their place.

“Thorin...I’m, I’m so sorry, I can explain, it’s completely my fault, I -”

“Yes, it is. But save it. We need to find Fíli.” 

Bilbo’s heart dropped into his stomach, his limbs going cold. He had ruined everything. Thorin would never trust him again.

Before Bilbo could spiral any further he nodded, silently. He ushered Kíli inside the house and Thorin spoke to him briefly before hurrying down the front steps. 

They got in Bilbo’s car and began the search in silence. It was mid-December, and the dim light of the day was already fading. Bilbo tried hard not to panic, his stomach churning and tying in knots. The urge to throw up was almost overwhelming. He couldn’t remember that last time he’d been so anxious. He tried to distract himself with the task at hand.

“Fíli...h-he couldn’t have gotten far, on foot. Are there any places nearby the school he might go?”

Bilbo tried to ignore the stab of pain as Thorin answered in a flat tone, staring straight ahead and refusing to look at Bilbo.

“...yes. There are. Um,” he pulled out his phone and opened a maps app.

Bilbo watched him from the corner of his eye, and saw that Thorin’s hands were trembling, slightly. He felt his heart contract painfully in his chest. Thorin was scared. He was afraid, and in pain, and it was selfish of Bilbo to keep thinking about Thorin being angry with him.

After a few more moments of silence, Thorin spoke again. “There’s a park...a few cafes...an arcade…”

“We’ll try those,” Bilbo said, his voice struggling to come out clearly around his throat, swollen from holding back tears.

They drove in almost unbearable silence, the sound of Bilbo’s own heartbeat thundering in his ears. The park was quickly eliminated, as a quick drive-by revealed it to be abandoned in the grey drizzle of December. Bilbo could tell from Thorin’s grim expression as he returned to the parked car that the arcade hadn’t proven useful either. 

As they were driving to one of the cafes to check for Fíli in low spirits, Bilbo decided to try to speak again, unable to bear the silence any longer.

“I...I told the boys I would take them somewhere special after school today.”

Thorin was silent for a long time before he answered. “Why?”

Bilbo swallowed, his eyes glued on the road. “Fíli was...very upset. He was very down about going to school today, he wanted to stay home and-”

“I know that,” Thorin snapped, interrupting Bilbo, who recoiled in response. “I told him he needed to go to school anyway.”

Bilbo picked his words carefully, meek and quiet, in fear of another explosive response from Thorin.

“I...I just thought that I could take him somewhere special to cheer him up. I told him he could pick, and tell me after school. Since you wouldn’t permit him to stay home -”

“So you thought you’d question my parenting choices, again?” Thorin growled, icy blue eyes narrowed at Bilbo.

Bilbo felt his stomach clench in a tighter knot, tears threatening at his eyes. He also felt the smallest flame of righteous indignation glowing in his belly. If Thorin had just been reasonable, and let poor Fíli miss  _ one  _ day of school, maybe this all could have been avoided…

“No! I believe that you had his best interests at heart. I just wanted him to have something to look forward to. He was so upset, he’s still really struggling with the death of his father-”

“You think I don’t know that?! You think I don’t know the pain Fíli is experiencing? You think I don’t know my own nephew?” Thorin boomed, indignant.

Bilbo flinched, but refused to back down. “No, that’s not what I’m saying! And I know it’s my fault for not being there to pick the boys up, but Fíli was in a really bad state today. He should’ve been allowed to stay home from school! I just don’t think you and Fíli are great at communicating with each other, and he needs things right now that you’re not giving to him-”

“Don’t presume to tell me about my family,” Thorin hissed, and Bilbo’s mouth snapped shut. “Fíli and Kíli may like you, but you are  _ not  _ a part of this family. You do not know our pain, and you have no right to speak on it.”

The words hit Bilbo with all the force of a wrecking ball. He’d known it all along, he supposed, but hearing it spoken aloud, having his fears confirmed...it took all of the fight out of him.

It was a long time before Bilbo was able to speak again, his throat constricting tightly. He didn’t really want to speak at all.

“Okay,” he managed, almost a whisper. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he hastily wiped it away. He refused to remove his eyes from the road, and used all of his effort to keep more tears from falling.

They drove for what felt like an eternity in silence. When they arrived at the cafe Bilbo parked and Thorin made a hasty exit from the car. Bilbo’s chin wobbled the moment Thorin left the car, but he forced himself to keep it together until they found Fíli. That was what was most important right now: finding the child he was charged with taking care of. After a few moments Thorin returned, slamming the door. Bilbo flinched, but kept his eyes straight ahead. He could hear Thorin sigh, and saw the man bury his face in his hands from the corner of his eye. Bilbo remained still, like a small animal afraid of detection. 

That’s when the thought occurred to him: he had asked Fíli to think of somewhere special to go after school. Fíli didn’t have many friends at all, he didn’t go to places like the park, or arcade, or cafes with friends. He preferred solitary activities. Like the museum.

“We should check the museum,” Bilbo blurted out, embarrassed at the hoarseness of his own voice.

“That’s almost a 45 minute walk from the school,” Thorin mumbled, but Bilbo detected a twinge of hope in his voice. “He might’ve made it. Damn it. Alright, let’s go.” 

~

When they arrived at the museum, this time both Thorin and Bilbo darted from the car, making a beeline towards the entrance. Before Bilbo could even suggest splitting up, Thorin had stalked off towards first floor exhibits, leaving Bilbo behind.

Sighing, Bilbo took the escalator up to the second floor. He surveyed the signs for a moment before stopping on the lunar exhibit, remembering the mesmerizing room with the glowing moon replica and twinkling stars. He quickly took off to reach the other side of the building.

When he entered the darkened room at first, his heart fell. There were barely any visitors at all, their faces lit by the gentle blue glow of the lights. Fíli was not one of them. Just as he was about to leave the exhibit, he spotted a dark pile of clothing and shadows sitting just under the handrailing along the outside edge of the room. A small bit of golden hair was poking out from the top, reflecting the light and giving him away.

Bilbo walked over quickly, then hesitated as his eyes adjusted.

“Fíli?” he asked, quietly, and the teen’s head popped up, his expression surprised.

“Bilbo? How did you…”

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Bilbo cried, and then the tears did come. He surged forward and pulled Fíli into a hug. “I was so scared something had happened to you!”

He pulled back and to his surprise, Fíli was crying too, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m...I’m really sorry. I’m sorry, Bilbo.”

Bilbo, his heart breaking for the teen, pulled him into a tight hug. Suddenly realizing, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly selected Thorin’s number. He picked up after the first ring.

“I found him,” Bilbo said shakily into the phone. “Moon exhibit, second floor.”

He could hear Thorin’s sigh of relief, and it almost felt like things were back to normal.

“I’m coming,” he said brusquely, and then hung up the phone.

Fíli looked fearful, his eyes wide. “Uncle Thorin is going to be so mad…”

Bilbo rubbed his back to calm him, as he had with Kíli. “It’s okay. He was just worried about you too. And don’t worry...it’s me he’s angry with, not you.”

When Thorin finally made it to the exhibit, he practically ran over to where Bilbo and Fíli were standing. Fíli looked afraid, and new tears started to well up in his eyes.

To Bilbo’s great surprise, Thorin walked right up to Fíli and took his nephew’s face in his hands. Bilbo was alarmed at first, but relaxed when he saw the tender expression on Thorin’s face, the warmth in those eyes. He took a few steps back, looking away, feeling as though he was intruding on a very private moment.

He didn’t hear the hushed conversation between the two, but saw when they tightly embraced, Fíli shaking with quiet sobs and gripping helplessly at his Uncle’s coat.

Bilbo thought he could hear a whispered chant of “ _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”  _ but couldn’t tell who was saying it.

After a few more tender moments, Bilbo decided to take a walk around the exhibit, trying to quell the storm of emotions just beneath the surface. Bilbo couldn’t say whether it was 5 or fifteen minutes later, Thorin’s shadowy figure approached him. His heart raced, and he held his breath and waited.

“You can go home,” Thorin spoke, finally, voice flat.

There were so many things that Bilbo imagined Thorin might say to him, and this was not one of them.

“You... but, what about you and Fíli? I was going to drive you back…?”

“We’ll call a car,” Thorin continued, in the same flat tone. Fíli started to walk over from the other side of the room, and Thorin looked away, sighing. “Go home, Bilbo.”

Bilbo clenched his jaw tightly, his eyes burning with tears. He supposed he’d earned this. Fíli was now at Thorin’s side, looking confusedly up at his uncle, but Bilbo couldn’t take anymore. He had no fight left in him, and he’d been holding back the hurt for far too long. He spun on his heel and walked out of the exhibit briskly, leaving the Durins behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! It's Pain! 
> 
> sorry I realize this chapter is shorter than usual, but I decided to combine some stuff together, so the next chapter will be usual length and contain lots of reconciliation and gayness. The next chap should also be out super soon, since I have much more unexpected time at home!! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, I love hearing feedback from y'all like so so much <3
> 
> ...also: my fic now has 69690 words B)


	9. Chapter VIII

Bilbo barely made it to the car before the tears began falling in earnest. Thankfully, the parking lot of the museum was fairly deserted. The rain started to fall more heavily as he got in his car, and he finally relinquished control of his emotions under the clinking of the raindrops. He couldn’t believe how, in an instant, he’d ruined what would have been a dream come true. It seemed almost like the hubris of legend - he’d gotten too excited and he hadn’t been paying attention…

Bilbo didn’t know. He didn’t care anymore, all he could feel was the vice of grief around his heart, a familiar sorrow that he hadn’t felt so strongly in a while. He grieved for the loss of this opportunity, for, perhaps, the loss of his job...and for the loss of the Durins. He didn’t want them out of his life yet. He wasn’t ready to lose anyone else yet, not again.

He didn’t remember much of his drive home, but he made it back to his apartment and crawled miserably into bed just as the remnants of light faded from the sky. He cried for a while longer, until his eyes were puffy and his throat was raw, and then he let sleep take him.

He awoke to the incessant buzzing of his phone next to him on the bed. He blinked a few times, disoriented, and squinted at the blindingly bright screen. He scrambled for his glasses on the nightstand, and once he slipped them on the screen came into focus.

There were several unread texts, all from the past 2 hours, all from Ori. Bilbo groaned, rubbing his fist into his temple. 

“Ugh...I forgot…”

The most recent text read, “U alive?? Those kids finally kill u???” 

Bilbo unlocked his phone and scrolled through the other messages. Ori had asked him about 2 hours ago if he still wanted to hang out this weekend, and if he should come over after Bilbo got done with work. He clicked on the reply bar, started to type out a response, and then deleted it. What could he even say? He wasn’t sure if Ori should come over...he wasn’t even sure if he still had a job. Just as he was contemplating what in the world to tell his friend, the phone began vibrating and Ori’s contact flashed on the screen.

Bilbo bit his lip, anxious, and vacillated for a moment on whether or not to pick it up before pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hel-”

“I saw the little dots typing, I knew you were alive!” came a tinny voice from the other end.

“...hey Ori,” Bilbo said, the scratchiness of his own voice surprising him.

There was a brief moment of silence, and Bilbo wasn’t sure if the line had dropped until Ori spoke again.

“...Is something wrong, Bilbo? You don’t sound so good.”

Bilbo chuckled, dry and miserable. “Is it that obvious?”

“What’s going on, mate? It sounds bad.”

“Uh...fuck. It’s kind of a long story, I don’t know if you wanna-”

“Alright, that’s it, I’m coming over, with icecream. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Bilbo looked around at his room, messier than usual, with piles of clothing lying around discarded. He hadn’t even bothered to get undressed before crawling in bed, and his button down shirt was wrinkled beyond repair. He didn’t really want anyone to see him right now, but at the same time...feeling sorry for oneself alone was a bad place to be…

“Alright. Okay. But hey...can you bring weed, too?”

Ori laughed, a bright cheerful sound that felt familiar to Bilbo, comforting.

“You got it. I’ll be there in 15.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait! Bilbo!” Ori interjected, urgent. “Where do you live, again?”

~

Bilbo half-heartedly picked up around his apartment while he waited for Ori to arrive, flicking light switches on as he did so. He downed a huge glass of water, dehydrated from crying for so long and promptly passing out. His stomach, disturbed by the flood of water, growled in protest and he realized he hadn’t eaten since the morning. Angry with himself, he pushed the feeling aside.

By the time Ori knocked at the door, he’d changed into sweats and a t-shirt, but had given up on cleaning and was collapsed on the couch. When he made his way over to the door and swung it open, he was accosted by Ori, wrapped up tight in a rather damp hug. 

“Biiiilbo! It’s so good to see you!” he exclaimed, laughing. He pulled back from the hug and held Bilbo at arm’s length, inspecting him more thoroughly.

His eyes narrowed as they refocused on Bilbo’s. He had dark circles under his eyes, and was sure they must have been blood-shot as well.

“Love, what happened?”

Bilbo hung his head, feeling absolutely awful. He felt Ori slip an arm around his shoulder and lead him to the couch. They sat in silence for a moment before Bilbo sighed, tipping his head back as tears threatened once again.

“I fucked up. I destroyed a great opportunity...I may have lost my job, I don’t know. But I’ve lost...Thorin hates me now.”

“What?!” Ori exclaimed, gaping at Bilbo.

Bilbo looked up at Ori, desperate. “Ori...it’s... _ such  _ a long story…”

Ori’s face grew serious, his brows knitting in frustration. “Well, I’m here. And we’ve both got nothing to do.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Bilbo muttered, hanging his head once again as he released a deep, shuddering sigh. It was a few moments before he spoke again. “Well first, I...ah fuck it, I have no pride left to defend. First off, you were right. About me, and Thorin. I mean...I think.”

Ori’s eyes grew wide and a grin spread across his face, but Bilbo quelled his excitement with a raised hand and a miserable expression.

“It doesn’t matter. Any chance of that happening is...is gone now.”

Bilbo spilled everything. He’d thought that he didn’t want to talk, but found that once he started, it was as though flood gates had been opened, and the deluge of his emotions was unstoppable. There really hadn’t been anyone to talk to about his feelings about Thorin...his job...and the unraveling mysteries of Erebor. Bilbo left out a lot of details about Erebor that Gandalf, Thorin, and even Bombur had shared with him over the last few months, unsure as to their confidentiality, but he told Ori about the job offer. He told him how excited he’d been, how elated to find out that Thorin had wanted him there. 

And then, through clenched teeth, his heart weighing heavy in his chest, he explained how he had destroyed that particular opportunity so shortly after receiving it. Ori showed nothing but complete sympathy, and looked angry when Bilbo described Thorin’s reaction. 

Ori shook his head as he pulled a pouch from his backpack, looking disgusted.

“I can’t believe he said that to you. What an arse.”

Bilbo felt a small bit of vindication at Ori’s words, but he shrugged, feeling tired.

“He was right. I’m  _ not  _ part of their family. I overstepped at the worst possible time. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“No!” Ori growled, pointing a finger at Bilbo and surprising his friend. “He was not right. He is full of shit. You said it yourself, he was in a panicked state - he didn’t  _ mean  _ that Bilbo. You have plenty of right to speak on the welfare of those kids, it’s  _ you  _ who’s been taking care of them the last 5 months!”

Ori’s words stirred something inside of Bilbo, though he still felt miserable. He began to nod, slowly.

“-And even if he wasn’t happy about you back-seat parenting or whatever, he didn’t have to say something so cruel. He said that just to hurt you. Because he  _ knows  _ how much you care. He’s an  _ arse.”  _ Ori over-emphasized the last word, rolling his eyes.

Bilbo chuckled, suddenly very, very grateful for his friend. 

“Ori, thank you for coming over. And for...for listening to me. I really needed a friend.” 

“Oh, you’re not rid of me yet!” Ori laughed, squeezing Bilbo around the shoulder once and then opening the pouch and setting out the items in it before him.

A glass blown pipe with swirling hues of dark green, blue, and silver sat next to an old silver grinder and a grubby looking lighter.

“We’re going to smoke away our sorrows,” Ori snickered, opening the grinder and depositing careful pinch-fuls of fluffy green into the bowl. “I just don’t know about this Thorin, Bilbo. I’m starting to think he doesn’t deserve you. He’s definitely not good enough for you.”

Bilbo leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms and sulking.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause I blew my chances at that as well.”

Ori made a ‘pfft’ noise, shaking his head, but didn’t respond and remained focused on his task.

“What?” Bilbo demanded, eyes narrowing.

Ori turned to face him, one eyebrow cocked. 

“Bilbo. Seriously? This man is so obviously in love with you.”

Bilbo felt his cheeks go bright red, but his heart gave a painful thump inside his chest in response.

“What? No. No!” Bilbo said, unsure and then more forcefully. “He’s not-”

“I give it three days, tops.”

“Three days…?”

“Until he apologizes to you.” Ori smirked at Bilbo, and then turned back to the pipe. After a moment he held it out to Bilbo, who accepted it wordlessly, glaring without much rancor at his best friend.

He took a long hit from the pipe, savoring the flow of smoke through his lungs, even as it tickled at his throat and squeezed his chest - he had not smoked in quite some time. He held it in his lungs until coughs threatened to spasm out from him and his head became light. Finally, he exhaled the smoke, watching it twist through the air in the dim light of his lamp.

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

Ori shrugged, snatching the pipe from him.

“And he’s not in love with me!”

~

Bilbo and Ori ordered a pizza and spent most of the night on the couch, rewatching Star Trek Voyager episodes, which Bilbo alternately talked and cried over, venting his anger, sadness, and worries to an ever-patient Ori. Eventually they both passed out, high and full, on the couch. Bilbo stirred at around 2 AM, blinking blearily, then fighting down a rush of nausea as his memories returned to him. 

He sat up slowly, trying not to disturb his slumbering friend. He rose to his feet, quietly, and walked into his bedroom. Bright moonlight poured in through the window and bathed the room in a blue glow. Drawn to the sight, Bilbo stepped up to the window, sliding it open and wincing at the rush of icy hair that assaulted his skin. He leaned out the window and took a deep breath of the frigid night air, welcoming the coolness soothing his throat, sore from crying and smoking. The moon hung in the sky before him, immense and bright in the cloudless sky. 

Unbidden, the memories of Thorin in the museum, the first time - back when they were happy - returned to him, washing over him and leaving him with a bittersweet taste in his mouth. He remembered how the artificial starlight had illuminated Thorin’s features in silver, how badly Bilbo’s heart had ached for him as he spoke openly and vulnerably about his love for the moon. Bilbo had fantasized over that memory again and again, thought about seeing that gentle, sweet side of Thorin under a real moon, kissing him under its soft light.

“It’s all so fucking stupid,” he murmured, to no one.

He stared up at the sky, feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. He was allowed to, he figured. He’d taken the risk, moved to London, done the thing. He’d tried to take on a new adventure and a new challenge and it had all blown up in his face. He could allow himself to feel just a little self-pity.

The moon seemed to stare back down at him, ignorant or uncaring of his distress. Cold, and distant. He shut the window, pulled the blinds, and collapsed in his bed once more.

~

When he awoke later that morning, the sun was streaming through the blinds and Bilbo could hear the sounds of Ori rustling around in the kitchen with pots and pans. He felt far less miserable than he had before, and better rested too. He stood slowly, stretching his joints and slowly pulling the blinds open. The sun was weak and wan in typical English fashion, but it was shining for what felt like the first time in weeks. 

Bilbo emerged from the bedroom to find Ori in the kitchen, surrounded by bowls and various dry and wet ingredients. Bilbo grunted in his direction and shuffled off into the bathroom. He examined himself in the mirror, and screwed his face up in distaste at his own reflection. His face was still a little puffy from crying, and his hair stuck out at every angle.

Sighing and pulling his clothes off, he decided a hot shower was in order. Fifteen minutes later he padded back to his bedroom, feeling and smelling fresher, to his immense relief. He changed into a new white t-shirt, a thread-bare, incredibly soft shirt he’d had for years, and swapped out his sweatpants for dark green lounge pants. He reasoned that it was less sad to wear sweats all weekend if he changed to different ones.

By the time he finally returned to the kitchen, Ori was waiting for him at the table, a stack of pancakes and the pipe waiting for him. He couldn’t help but crack a smile as he sat down, stomach growling.

“Ori, have I ever mentioned that I love you?” 

Ori laughed, taking a big bite of his own breakfast. “Not nearly enough.”

They ate in silence for a few moments, and Bilbo was feeling okay for the first time in a while...until he started to dwell on what had happened again. All of yesterday he’d been so grief-stricken about losing both the job opportunity in Erebor  _ and  _ Thorin’s favor that he hadn’t thought much about losing his  _ job.  _

He slowed his chewing, putting his fork down. He felt a little nauseous.

Ori noticed, raising an eyebrow and nudging the pipe towards him.

“Wanna talk about it?” his friend asked gently.

“If I lose this job I’ll have to leave London. This apartment is part of my payment.”

Ori placed a hand on his wrist and spoke softly. “You’re not going to lose this job, Bilbo. I promise you.”

Bilbo’s teeth worried his lip, and his gaze flickered down to the pipe.  _ Can’t hurt,  _ he thought, picking it up and trying to remember the last time he’d smoked this early in the morning.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked, taking a long drag.

Ori sighed, crossing his arms. “Thorin likes you. Even if you won’t admit that he loves you, you have to concede that he seriously likes you and cares about you, beyond what is professional.”

Bilbo shrugged, annoyed at the heat that threatened to flood his cheeks, even now.

“-and, we’ve established that he was upset, and probably overreacting. He asked you to go home, that does  _ not  _ mean he’s firing you.”

Bilbo had to admit that Ori had a point. Several points, in fact. But Thorin had seemed to lose all of his regard for Bilbo in an instant. With how protective he was of his nephews, surely he wouldn’t trust Bilbo again to look after them?

He sighed, resting his chin in his hand. “Maybe. I don’t know.” 

He felt gloomy, and he was so tired of agonizing over this again and again. He just wanted to forget about this, at least for a little bit.

Seemingly reading his thoughts, Ori handed him the pipe once again, a sympathetic expression on his face.

“Come on. Let’s go be lazy on the couch with Captain Janeway.”

~

Deciding to, for once, give himself a break, Bilbo succumbed to his friend’s influence and they continued their Star Trek marathon from the night before, taking occasional breaks to sit at the table and blow smoke out of the windows, giggling at nothing in particular.

It was a few hours later, the afternoon sun streaming in prettily through the windows, when both Bilbo and Ori were surprised by a knock at the door. Bilbo hadn’t smoked in an hour or so, and was only a little buzzed, but was fairly certain he shouldn’t be expecting anyone. He turned to Ori with an eyebrow cocked.

“Did you order food?”

Ori held his hands up in defense. “Not me.” 

The knocking sounded at the door again, this time more urgent. Bilbo grimaced, rising from the couch and toeing on his slippers. It seemed even after his move from the Shire there was no escape from unexpected visitors.

When he finally made it to the door, wary of whoever might be on the outside, he peered through the peephole - and promptly stumbled back and nearly fell on his arse. He turned to Ori with a panicked expression, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“SHIT! Ori - it’s him! It’s Thorin!!” he hissed, ducking uselessly back into the living room.

Ori’s eyes went wide, and he immediately moved to push Bilbo back in front of the door.

“Oh my god! Open it, then! Don’t just leave him standing there!”

“But-”

“Open it! Talk with him! Have a romantic reunion!” 

Bilbo frantically shushed him, nervously glancing over at the door where the knocking had ceased.

“Shut up!! I don’t want to-”

“I’ll go hide in your bedroom.”

“Ori-” Bilbo began, but his friend had already bolted for the bedroom, a wicked look on his face.

“I’ll be right in the other room if you need me!” he called as he scooped up the pipe and other paraphernalia and made a hasty retreat.

Bilbo groaned and ran his hands down his face, his stomach churning as he slowly approached the door.  _ Maybe Thorin will have left?  _ He thought, with little hope, as he opened the door.

Thorin had not left. He had started to turn around, but he turned back to face Bilbo at the sound of the door opening.

Bilbo swallowed as Thorin’s eyes met his own. They were neither the cold steely grey of the day before or the liquid blue he’d admired in their few intimate moments. His eyes were stormy, swirls of blue and green barely containing the squall of emotions Bilbo could sense beneath the surface.

Thorin wore a deep turquoise sweater, a thick cable knit under a dark peacoat that Bilbo suspected had been strategically picked to bring out the brilliant hues in Thorin’s eyes. Or maybe life was just unfair like that in the worst of times.

Surprisingly, Thorin broke eye contact first, his gaze flickering down to floor before quickly flitting up Bilbo’s body and back to his face. Bilbo tried to ignore the rush of heat that flowed through him at the action. Both from...excitement, and the embarrassment of his pajama outfit compared to Thorin’s nice clothing.

“Bilbo...uh...hello,” Thorin began, shifting his weight and scratching at his arm. Bilbo noticed for the first time he was holding a canvas bag that looked like it had something heavy inside.

“...hi,” Bilbo said in response, crossing his arms and waiting for Thorin to continue, willing his pounding heart to calm down. 

“Could I...would it be alright...if we talked?” Thorin paused, peering behind Bilbo into the apartment. “If now is a bad time…”

Bilbo rubbed at the back of his neck, weighing his options. He could send Thorin away, tell him he needed to give some warning before just showing up at his apartment...but he knew he didn’t want to. From the moment he’d opened the door, all he’d wanted to do was pull the other man into a hug, get him closer in any way possible.

He nodded after a moment, stepping aside to let Thorin enter. “No, it’s...it’s fine. Come in.”

He walked ahead of Thorin, glancing around at the disarray and desperately wishing he hadn’t left the pizza box out on the table.

“Sorry for the mess, I had a friend -”

“I just wanted to talk to you-”

Both men spoke at once, and both stopped awkwardly. Bilbo chuckled nervously, looking away and leaning against the small kitchen island.

“Go ahead,” he prompted Thorin. 

Thorin looked so uncomfortable and nervous that Bilbo might’ve gotten a little enjoyment out of it if he wasn’t feeling so anxious himself. 

“I...I wanted to apologize, for how I reacted yesterday.”

They both heard the light “thunk” sound of something falling on the floor in the bedroom. Thorin turned his attention to the door but Bilbo held up a hand, grimacing, and internally cursing Ori for his eavesdropping.

“Ignore it. Sorry.” 

Thorin turned back to Bilbo, looking slightly confused, but continued. “Right...well. I owe you an apology for...for what I said. I was so terrified for Fíli...I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Bilbo nodded, slowly, arms still crossed tightly across his abdomen. His heart was still racing, but the knot inside of his stomach had started to lessen.

Thorin rubbed at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Gandalf called me to let me know that he had been briefing you about Erebor...as I requested. He explained that he kept you late, that it wasn’t your fault-”

Bilbo shook his head, pursing his lips. “It  _ was  _ my fault. I should’ve paid closer attention to the time, and I’m sorry.”

Thorin met Bilbo’s eyes, and Bilbo was nearly overwhelmed with the conflict that seemed to swirl inside of them. He sensed a great deal of anger, sadness - but none of it directed towards him.

“No. You were right about what you said. I shouldn’t have told you that you didn’t have a right to speak on what Fíli needed...you’ve spent the better half of a year getting to know my nephews, and gaining their trust and admiration. You do know what they need. And you know...you know that Fíli and I have some issues.”

Bilbo wanted to still be angry at Thorin, wanted to tell him that  _ damn right,  _ he knew what those kids needed. But the anger had all but fizzled out, and Bilbo just felt sympathy for Thorin instead. His heart hurt for the man, for his broken little family, and for everything that they would still have to endure.

“I know that Fíli loves you very, very much. And looks up to you. I think the two of you are a lot more similar that you think...and that’s part of the problem.”

Thorin nodded, a wry smile dancing at the corners of his mouth.

“I think that is very true. Fíli and I talked...a lot, last night. And Dís, too. We’re going to tell Fíli more about his father, stop keeping so much from him. I was just trying to protect him, but...I suppose, I may have been projecting my own reaction, to losing my father…”

Bilbo’s fingers itched to reach out and touch Thorin, but he schooled himself.

“It...It’s okay, Thorin. You don’t have to...I understand. I’m just glad that you and Fíli are talking, really talking. That’s so good to hear.” Bilbo paused, biting down hard on his lip, anxiety rising once more. “I just...I just hope that you haven’t lost faith in me as a caretaker…”

Thorin looked confused, and then his eyes seemed to spark with understanding.

“What…? No, Bilbo, you were right. I...I didn’t make you think that you were fired, did I?”

Bilbo looked down at his feet, feeling mortified as tears stung at the corners on his eyes. He squeezed them shut in embarrassment. He felt a gentle grip around his wrist, pulling his hand away from where it was balled up in a fist against his face. Thorin’s fingers were warm, and he almost broke down entirely at the gentle sensation, bringing him such relief after Thorin’s cold expression and demeanor the other day.

“Bilbo, I...one of the reasons I wanted to apologize was to ask...to...I just, wanted to let you know that you are not only still welcome in Erebor, but...we would really... _ I  _ would really like you to come. We need you.” Thorin choked out the sentence, stumbling over his words.

The unspoken  _ I need you  _ hung heavy in the air. A vulnerable, stuttering, humbled Thorin was quite a sight for sore eyes, Bilbo thought, his cheeks pink. The joy started in his toes, climbing up his body in tendrils until an unintended smile grew on Bilbo’s face. He had been worried about his job, and here Thorin was, practically prostrating himself before Bilbo to beg him to stay. The grin on his face grew and he felt tears prick at his eyes once more.

Thorin’s eyes widened in horror as he saw the first roll down Bilbo’s cheek, and reached out another hand to grasp at Bilbo’s shoulder while the other held his wrist. Bilbo couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him, escalating to a burst of laughter when Thorin expressed utter confusion in response.

“Sorry, sorry -” Bilbo gasped, out of breath as he pulled away from Thorin. He exhaled deeply, feeling a little lightheaded.

“Bilbo, are you okay?” Thorin asked, looking concerned.

Bilbo contemplated long and hard before answering.

“To be completely honest?” he began, noting Thorin’s expression of slight trepidation. “I’ve just kind of gone on an emotional rollercoaster over the past 24 hours or so, and, before you’re disapproving about this next part remember that I am not on duty....I may have smoked a lot of pot before you got here and all of this is pretty overwhelming.”

Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and contemplated whether or not he’d be able to run out of the apartment before Thorin stopped him. There was silence for a long moment before a small noise broke it. Thorin started to snort quietly with laughter.

Bilbo’s eyes flew open in surprise. Thorin’s hand covered his mouth but his eyes shone with mirth. They looked sapphire in the sunny afternoon light.

Bilbo wiped the last of the tears from his eyes and smiled nervously. “What? Why are you laughing at me?” he demanded, even though he couldn’t fight the stupid smile that remained on his face, overwhelmed as he was with joy and relief.

“I’m...uh, it’s nothing. Sorry about the...emotional rollercoaster. I suppose that was my fault.”

“Entirely,” Bilbo said dryly, finally feeling a bit calmer.

Thorin seemed to fight back a smile, holding Bilbo’s gaze for a few moments before looking away shyly. 

“Um...actually, I also...wanted to give you something,” he mumbled, leaning over to open the canvas bag he had deposited on the floor. He pulled out a pot with a flash of green, and Bilbo smelled the fragrant blossoms of the lavender plant before he saw it.

Bilbo felt his mouth drop open as he gaped at the plant and then at Thorin, who seemed to be avoiding his eye as he handed over the small pot. Three delicate stalks extended upward with feathery leaves and clusters of sweet-smelling buds on the end. Bilbo gratefully took it from Thorin’s hands and inhaled deeply.

“Thorin, thank you so much! I love lavender, this is absolutely lovely,” Bilbo said softly, smiling at Thorin.

Thorin finally met his gaze, his proud, high cheekbones a little ruddy. “I’m...glad you like it. I know you collect plants...I got it from a friend who owns a nursery not far from here, Blue Mountain Brothers-”

“Ah! I know that place - that’s where I got all of the rest of these,” Bilbo exclaimed, gesturing to the other plants in the living room and kitchen. “Bofur gives great plant advice.”

“You know Bofur?” Thorin asked, seemingly confused as he followed behind Bilbo, who was trying out different locations for the newest addition to his collection.

“Of course. He runs the shop. Also, he actually helped me move in a little my first day here! He’s such a sweet guy.”

Thorin snorted out a rather rude sounding laugh and Bilbo spun around.

“Sweet. Sure. A massive flirt is more accurate,” Thorin said, rolling his eyes. “You know he’s Bombur’s brother, right?”

That did give Bilbo pause, but it made a lot of sense, now that he thought about it. He’d remembered thinking there was something familiar looking about Bofur. The similarities between the two brothers started and ended in the face. 

“Huh. Wow. Well, I do now.” Bilbo paused, turning to face Thorin. “Why do you say he’s a flirt?”

Thorin’s face reddened and rolled his eyes again, crossing his arms. “I’ve known him for a long time. Since we were teens. Trust me, he’s a flirt.”

Bilbo laughed, tipping the watering can into the pot, and taking note of Thorin’s defensive stance. “Did he steal someone from you?”

There was a pause before Thorin answered, and when he did speak his tone was carefully controlled. “No. But I’m sure it’s crossed his mind.”

Before Bilbo could start to guess at what that meant, Thorin had cleared his throat and changed the subject, glancing around the apartment.

“Anyway...I’m...sorry to have just barged in on you. I should probably get going…” 

Bilbo tried to fight down the disappointment, before he suddenly remembered about Ori.

“Oh! Right. I just forgot. No, it’s totally alright. But I did just remember that my best friend is still here and patiently waiting for me,” Bilbo said, looking sheepish.

Thorin’s expression of shock was just a little bit comical, Bilbo thought, as the latter spun around, looking around the apartment.

“He’s in the bedroom, down the hall,” Bilbo gestured to the door. “Sorry...he came over for uh...moral support, and then told me I had to talk to you and locked himself in my bedroom,”

Bilbo raised his hands in defense at the quizzical expression Thorin was giving him. “I don’t know why he does these things either.”

Right on cue, Ori poked his head out from the doorway, looking sheepish. “Does this mean I’m allowed to come out now?”

Both Thorin and Bilbo stared at him, Thorin still looking utterly confused. Bilbo groaned and buried his face in his hands. 

~

The next few minutes were spent in awkward introductions, Thorin clearly uncomfortable and eventually politely excusing himself after one more, emotionally fraught look in Bilbo’s direction. Ori, for his part, was well-behaved, and didn’t say anything on the subject until Bilbo closed the door behind Thorin.

Even then, he didn’t say anything immediately. He just stood with his arms crossed, smirking at Bilbo. 

Bilbo rolled his eyes, hiding his smile as he turned away from Ori, waving a hand at him. “Alright, out with it, before you have an aneurism. 

“You know what, I don’t even feel like I have to say anything…” Ori said with a laugh. “The man brought you a plant. Also…”

Ori gestured at the door with both hands, and then back at Bilbo, face contorted in a comical exaggeration of shock.

“ _ Why  _ didn’t you tell me that you’ve captured the heart of a hunky Eastern European supermodel? Were you gonna tell me he was this hot, or…?”

Bilbo’s cheeks colored and he chuckled. 

Ori walked up to his friend, grasping his face in his hands and looking Bilbo in the eye with intensity.

“Bilbo. If you’ve never listened to me before, now is the time to listen. You absolutely need to  _ get that _ .”

Both of them exploded into a fit of giggles and Bilbo sunk to the floor, trying to process all that had just happened. He felt the joy warmth from before still sitting inside of him, fragile, like something living. 

“Yeah. I really do.”

~

Monday was the boys’ last day of school before the holiday break began. When Bilbo picked up the kids from school, Fíli looked sheepish. Bilbo made sure to get there extra early, and was leaning against his car - braced against the late December chill - when the kids approached him. Fíli wrapped him up in a hug before he could speak, and Kíli joined in shortly after. Bilbo smiled, hugging them back and enjoying the growing feeling of fuzzy warmth inside of him.

“I’m sorry I got Uncle Thorin mad at you,” Fíli mumbled into his shirt before pulling back, tugging nervously at the straps of his backpack. “He apologized, right?”

Bilbo was a little surprised that Fíli knew about that, but in retrospect, it made sense. Dís and the kids had probably poked and prodded him to apologize to Bilbo.

Bilbo’s cheeks colored slightly as he got back in the car with Fíli and Kíli. 

“Yes. He came over and apologized...he was, um. Very nice about it,” Bilbo trailed off, not missing Fíli’s smirk in the rear-view mirror.

“Did he bring you the flowers?” Fíli asked, his tone suspiciously innocent-sounding.

“Er...yes. Well, kind of - it wasn’t like, a bouquet, it was a plant  _ with  _ some flowers and...wait, how do you even know about that?”

Fíli and Kíli giggled conspiratorially from the backseat and Bilbo tried to ignore them, his face heating.

“The plant was my idea,” Fíli said proudly.

“No, Fíli! You told Uncle to get  _ flowers.  _ He said Bilbo would like a plant better,” Kíli interjected.

“Whatever, same idea,” Fíli responded, rolling his eyes.

Bilbo chuckled, still wary of the secretive looks the brothers were exchanging. “Well, it was lovely, either way, so thank you for your suggestion Fíli.”

Fíli shrugged. “Sometimes my uncle needs a little bit of help with his emotions,” he said, matter-of-factly.

Bilbo giggled in response before schooling his face. “You might be onto something there.”

~

By the time Thorin arrived home that evening, Bilbo and the boys were curled up on the couch, watching reruns of old Christmas movies that played on all the networks in December. Fíli fiddled with his phone and Kíli was utterly focused on a coloring book. All three looked up at the sound of the front door closing.

When Thorin made his way into the living room, his expression was soft and his eyes filled with warmth. It was the look he often gave his nephews, but this time, Bilbo was on the receiving end as well. He smiled shyly at Thorin, unsure of what exactly to say after their last encounter. Thorin moved to sit down on the couch next to Kíli, ruffling his hair gently as he did so.

“I see that winter break has begun,” he laughed.

“Yep. These two strong-armed me into putting on Christmas movies, I did everything I could. They’re relentless.”

“Hey, you were the one that wanted to watch movies!” Fíli cut in defensively, and Bilbo swiftly silenced him with a pillow to the face.

Thorin laughed as they wrestled over it for a moment, Fíli getting a good  _ whack  _ in against the side of Bilbo’s head.

“Speaking of Christmas…” Thorin began once they had settled. “I don’t know if the boys told you, but we’re having our annual Christmas party next week, on the 23rd. It’s usually a pretty small gathering, but...you’d of course be welcome to come. If you wanted.”

“Oh,” Bilbo replied, intrigued. “That sounds nice, I’d love to. I mean, if it wouldn’t be an imposition…”

“You gotta come to the party Bilbo, it’s so much fun!” Kíli said, finally turning his attention away from his coloring book.

Bilbo smiled at Kíli. Why did he still feel a little afraid that Thorin was just inviting him out of a sense of obligation? Because he felt bad about how he’d treated Bilbo before? Even with all of the overwhelming evidence in front of him that he  _ was  _ welcome, that they did want him in their lives, Thorin’s words from the other day still rang in his mind. 

Sensing his ambivalence, Thorin looked a touch nervous before he spoke.

“It wouldn’t be an imposition. You’re more than welcome...We would love to have you. I would...really enjoy it if you came to the party,” Thorin looked embarrassed as he spoke, but Bilbo didn’t take it to heart, he knew that Thorin was trying to be more direct with his emotions.

He smiled, holding the latter’s gaze. “Alright then. I’ll be there.”

~

Bilbo fretted over what to wear for an amount of time that he felt embarrassed to admit. He finally settled on a shirt he’d bought years ago but had always chickened out of wearing. It was a button down, made of loose, silky cream-colored fabric, covered in a print of tiny yellow wildflowers and little birds. He paired it with a snug-fitting pair of sage-green pants, skinny at the ankle. 

He shrugged on his comfiest, thick-knit cardigan and appraised himself in the mirror. He fussed with his curls in the mirror for a time, annoyed at the length of the golden spirals as they fell across his forehead. He hadn’t gotten a haircut in quite some time, and the curls now tickled the back of his neck and fell into his line of sight occasionally. Annoyed, he tucked the extra hair behind his ears, and decided that it wasn’t a terrible look. 

He felt a little ridiculous at how much he was fussing over his appearance, but he’d thought about how this was the last time he’d see Thorin for a while - he was leaving the next day to spend the holidays with Drogo and Primula, and would be staying through the New Year. Classes didn’t start back up again after that for another week, and it was frustratingly ambiguous when they’d all be leaving for Erebor. All in all, it was a sure to be a chaotic time, with Thorin and Dís busy making arrangements to leave, and Bilbo wasn’t sure when he’d have a chance to see Thorin again in such a relaxed setting. 

He had a feeling things were about to change, a lot. It was exciting, but nerve-wracking as well. Things had been coming to a head in his relationship with Thorin, as well. He thought it might take some time for things to go back to how they’d been before the fight, but if anything Thorin had been softer, gentler with him, more vulnerable. It was driving him mad. He’d been infatuated with Thorin before but this new side of him - gentle and sweet, treating Bilbo like something fragile that he might break - made Bilbo want to grab him by his shirt and kiss him until they were both dizzy.

He desperately wanted to cling onto the peaceful domesticity they’d been enjoying for so long, but he knew that things were about to get hectic. So, he decided he needed to make a good impression at this party. Maybe even get Thorin to talk about his feelings a little bit. Maybe...maybe something could finally happen between them.

Bilbo suddenly felt silly, fussing over himself in the mirror. He spritzed on some cologne - a gardenia scent - and slipped on a pair of boots, lacing them up quickly. He threw on his coat and headed out into the gentle snowfall.

~

The walk wasn’t far, but Bilbo was shivering by the time he got to the townhouse, his mittened hands shoved deep into his pockets. He had started out his walk a little slower, charmed by the white dusting that covered all of the cars and buildings, a nearly full moon bathing everything in a silver glow. 

As he climbed the steps, the tinkling notes of music and laughter reached his ears, and the light coming from within looked warm. He felt his heart give an excited little leap in anticipation. He rapped on the door quickly. He was worried that maybe he should knock again - it probably hadn’t been loud enough to hear over the din inside - but to his surprise, just a few moments after he knocked, the door swung open. In a coincidental echo of their first meeting, Kíli stood before him, hair pulled back in intricate braids and a wide smile on his face.

“Bilboooo! I waited by the door for you! You’re finally here!” Kíli sang.

He grabbed Bilbo by the hand and pulled him through the door and into the warm apartment, the sounds of music and laughter a bit louder. Bilbo laughed, picking up Kíli under the armpits and hugging him tight before he squirmed free. 

“Happy Christmas, Kíli,” he said, welcoming the warmth of the apartment and slipping out of his jacket. 

A familiar voice called to him from further down the hallway, and he turned to see Bofur coming down the stairs. He didn’t look quite as...bohemian as the layers of mud-splattered clothing Bilbo was used to seeing him in, but he looked nice in an oversized sweater with a few loose threads and black pants.

“Bilbo!” he exclaimed in delight. “Small world, innit?”

Bilbo laughed as Bofur put an arm around his shoulder and squeezed him in a half hug.

“I know!” he replied. “All this time I’ve been a loyal patron, and I had no idea you knew Thorin! And that you were related to Bombur!”

“Ah yes, well, you know us plantkeepers are mysterious people, full of many secrets,” he said mock-serious, with a wink. “But I didn’t think to mention it. Thorin came in the other day, actually. HIs majesty graced me with ‘is presence. Said he was looking for a good “I’m sorry” plant. I kept telling him flowers were the way to go for that, but he insisted it had to be a plant. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would ya?” 

Bilbo’s cheeks heated as he realized that Bofur definitely already knew the answer to that question.

“Bilbo, come on!!” Kíli insisted, tugging at his hand. “You have to say hi to everyone!”

Bilbo shrugged at Bofur, looking sheepish. Bofur smiled and followed the two into the drawing room where most of the guests were gathered. Bilbo’s gaze was immediately drawn to Thorin, honing in on him like a magnet. His back was partially turned, but Bilbo could see that he was wearing a royal blue, tailored suit that hugged his backside in a verging on obscene manner. Bilbo was taken aback, suddenly self-conscious about his choice of clothing. Thorin looked amazing in a suit. When he turned, Bilbo saw that he wore a lavender shirt, slightly unbuttoned, and his hair was half up, pulled back in twin braids like Kíli’s. The braids had silver beads on the end that twinkled in the low light. 

Suddenly feeling a little warm, Bilbo looked around the room and saw that just about everyone was dressed quite nicely. It wasn’t a huge party, but there were maybe 10 people that Bilbo didn’t know. He shrugged off his cardigan, feeling a little exposed with his semi-sheer sleeves. This didn’t seem like the usual crowd for large visible tattoos, but he didn’t fancy the idea of anxiety sweating through his nice shirt.

Just as he was contemplating bailing to the kitchen to find a drink before diving into social interaction, Thorin spotted him, a slow smile spreading across his face. It was as though Bilbo’s feet started carrying him forward of their own volition. He vaguely registered that one of the women Thorin was talking to was Dís, who was smirking at her oblivious brother. He was mostly focused on Thorin, who looked - of course - even more handsome up close. His eyes were warm and he held Bilbo’s gaze with a soft smile as he approached. When Bilbo reached the group he forced himself to tear his gaze away from Thorin, smiling at Dís and the other woman, a tall red-head in a deep emerald dress.

“Hi,” he offered, feeling a little lame.

“Hi,” replied Thorin.

Dís cleared her throat and Thorin’s eyes darted away from Bilbo’s for the first time since he spotted him. 

“Hello again Bilbo, I’m so glad you could come,” Dís said, her smug expression switching to one of real warmth as she pulled Bilbo into a hug.

“This is my colleague, Tauriel Mirkwood. She works with me at the Embassy.” Dís gestured to her companion.

Tauriel was tall and beautiful, with fair skin, flowing copper hair, and piercing green eyes that matched her dress. Bilbo noted she smelled nice too as she extended her hand for a shake. He tried not to feel too self-conscious about the nearly full foot of height she had on him. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bilbo,” she said in a voice soft as a windchime.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Bilbo said, chipper.

_ Are all of the Durins’ friends as tall, beautiful, and rich as they are?  _ He thought to himself, his eyes quickly glancing around the room to take in some of the other guests. The answer appeared to be yes.

“Thorin was just telling me what a great caretaker you’ve been for Fíli and Kíli. I get the impression that they can be quite a handful,” she said with a smirk as Kíli streaked past with another kid about his age, nearly toppling over a side table. 

“Oh, they’re more than worth the trouble,” Bilbo said with a smile. 

A few more people joined their group and began a conversation with Tauriel, smiling at Bilbo by way of greeting. Dís joined in, and Bilbo stood awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he wondered if he should introduce himself.

“Bilbo, can I get you a drink?” Thorin asked, raising his eyebrows in Bilbo’s direction. “How rude of me to not have offered you one already. If you’ll excuse us?”

Bilbo let out a short sigh of relief and nodded. Thorin put a hand on the small of his back, barely there, as he led Bilbo to the kitchen. It was unnecessary, but Bilbo loved it. He felt tendrils of heat blooming across his back from the small point of contact. When guests spotted the pair of them, they smiled in Bilbo’s direction, and Bilbo tried to squash the feelings of self-consciousness. He was sure he looked common and frumpy next to Thorin.

Once they were relatively alone in the kitchen, save for a few stragglers talking in the corners that paid them no mind, Bilbo exhaled, rolling his sleeves up. He noticed that Thorin’s eyes followed his hand with the movement, and felt even more self-conscious.

“Uh...sorry, I...didn’t dress any fancier. I don’t have much black-tie attire…”

Thorin looked surprised, his gaze flickering from Bilbo’s arms to his face.

“No, Bilbo, you...you look...very nice,” Thorin finished, his gaze roving for a minute over Bilbo’s body, and in the brighter light of the kitchen it was impossible to hide the enticing rosy color that spread across his cheeks. 

Bilbo’s heart gave a little flip in his chest.

“And besides, it’s definitely not  _ that  _ kind of party. I um...save this suit for special occasions,” Thorin paused, looking genuinely embarrassed as he smoothed out the lapels. “I...do you think it’s too much?”

“No, no, not at all,” Bilbo rushed to reassure him, finally giving into the urge to touch as he lightly dusted at Thorin’s shoulders. “You look amazing.”

The truthful words slipped out of Bilbo’s mouth before he could think to censor them, and his cheeks burned with color. He was pleased to see that Thorin’s blush had deepened as well. Bilbo cleared his throat and turned to the counter, pouring himself a glass of wine and quickly taking a swig.  _ Liquid courage,  _ he thought.

“Thanks for saving me back there,” Bilbo said, genuinely grateful.

_ Definitely not changing the subject because I don’t have to guts to follow through with my flirting,  _ he thought.

Thorin shrugged, refilling his champagne flute with some more bubbly and downing it quickly.

“It was nothing. You looked a little uncomfortable…” he trailed off, tipping his once again empty glass upside down and glaring at it.

Bilbo giggled, for some reason always finding immense joy in Thorin’s combative glares at inanimate objects. Thorin caught his eye and smiled, his own eyes twinkling.

“How about something a little stronger?” he said, pulling a bottle of gin out from a low cabinet. 

“Oh thank God,” Bilbo said in response, eliciting a laugh out of Thorin.

A few minutes later they were both nursing some pretty decent gin and tonics, courtesy of Thorin. 

“I had no idea you were such a good bartender,” Bilbo quipped, already feeling a bit fuzzy from the strong liquor that he’d admittedly gulped down the first sips of to smooth out his nerves. It was working.

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me,” Thorin said, his tone teasing.

“Oh, yeah, like what?” Bilbo challenged.

The other stragglers had left the kitchen, and they were alone now, leaning into each other’s space, intimate, clutching their drinks.

_ All of these people are here for Thorin’s party, to see him...but I have him all to myself,  _ Bilbo mused, the thought fueling the blooming warmth inside of him. He loved having all of Thorin’s attention to himself, it made him feel wanted, special.

Thorin looked thoughtful as he responded. “Well, I have a degree in art history,” he said, taking a sip.

Bilbo  _ was  _ surprised. “Oh, wow! I didn’t know that. But...that makes sense. You have  _ very  _ good taste in art.”

Thorin smiled, looking proud. “Thank you. My collection was very carefully selected. I have a particular soft spot for the abstract expressionists and color field painters of the 60s…”

“I noticed! That Frankenthaler upstairs is gorgeous,” Bilbo replied, excited.

Thorin’s eyes lit up and his expression, if possible, softened even further as he looked at Bilbo with what could only be admiration. 

“You know, there’s this gallery downtown that I think you’d really enjoy,” he began, fingers tapping at the rim of his glass, perhaps a nervous tic.

Just then, a familiar tall figure appeared in the doorway, shattering the intimate bubble they’d built around themselves.

“Ah, Thorin! There you are - and Bilbo too! Should’ve known I’d find you two together!” Gandalf winked as he strode over.

“Gandalf,” Thorin greeted him, his tone a little testy as he pointedly ignored the latter’s comment.

“Mind if I steal him away just for a minute?” Gandalf directed his request at Bilbo, smiling conspiratorially. 

Bilbo waved a hand at Gandalf as he took another sip, cheeks pink. “Go right ahead.”

Thorin cast Bilbo an apologetic glance. “We’ll continue this conversation later,” he said, as Gandalf began to exit the room. His eyes were warm, but dark. There was a promise in them.

Bilbo shivered despite himself, holding that intense gaze. “O-okay. Yeah. Definitely.”

And then Thorin was gone, and Bilbo found himself alone in that cavernous kitchen once more. Taking one more deep gulp from his cup, he headed back out into the party.

~

Bilbo wasn’t great at parties in the first place, and was less great when he hardly knew anyone there. He looked around for Thorin and Gandalf but they were nowhere to be found. Bofur joined him after a few minutes of sitting anxiously on the couch, and Bilbo was grateful for the familiar face.

“Having a good time?” Bofur asked cheekily.

“Well, I was,” Bilbo said wistfully, feeling a bit lightheaded as he reached the dregs of his drink. 

Bofur eyed the glass with a raised bushy eyebrow. “You got the good stuff, I see.”

“Thanks to Thorin,” Bilbo smiled, clinking his glass against Bofur’s.

Bofur laughed, a hearty sound that reminded him of Bombur. It was easier to see the resemblance now that he knew. It was nice to talk to Bofur, who was even more dressed down than Bilbo. It made him feel like less of an outsider. 

“Hey, where is your brother? I figured he’d be here,” Bilbo asked, the thought coming to him all of the sudden.

“On ‘is way. He’s always busy around Christmas time, lots of baking to do.” Bofur smiled fondly. “His little one’s here, though.”

Bofur nodded to the little boy playing with Kíli over by the windows, with a wild mane of red hair. 

“Ah yes, the one wreaking havoc with Kíli,” said Bilbo.

Bofur laughed again, smiling fondly at the children.

“Ah, they’re nothing compared to me and my friends when we were that age,” Bofur turned to face Bilbo, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You know, when we were young, me n’ Bombur used to get in all sorts of trouble with Thorin and Dís and their cousin, Dwalin. We grew up together, did ya know that?”

Bilbo’s eyes went wide with delight as he shook his head no. He’d barely heard anything about Thorin’s childhood.

“Please, tell me more,” he said.

Bofur laughed and obliged, explaining that they had grown up on the same huge estate, Bofur and Bombur’s parents working for the Durins as in-house staff.

“Dwalin was always ready for an adventure, but Thorin was a bit more precocious, he was very serious about keeping the family’s good name intact. Dís usually convinced him to act like a miscreant with us, though.”

That didn’t really surprise Bilbo at all. 

Bofur was in the middle of a tale, explaining to Bilbo how the 5 of them had pantsed a wealthy official and nearly gotten away with it when Thorin materialized behind them, clearing his throat.

Bilbo jumped, wiping a tear from his eye as he struggled to regain his composure from laughing hysterically. Thorin was looking through narrowed eyes at Bofur, annoyance poorly concealed. 

“Oh, looky. Ears burning?” Bofur laughed, his head lolling back lazily on the couch to smile up at Thorin. “I was just telling Bilbo about that time we pantsed Thranduíl…”

Bilbo covered his mouth with his hand to hide his giggle. 

Thorin looked unamused as Bofur went on.

“Next I was going to tell him about when you were 13 and had a crush on-”

Thorin moved swiftly as he slammed a pillow into Bofur’s face, cutting him off mid-sentence. Bilbo jumped in surprise, and then let out a fresh stream of giggles as Thorin pretended to suffocate Bofur for a few moments before freeing him.

“Well that was very rude,” Bofur said, matter of factly, rearranging his mussed hair. “You can’t keep embarrassing childhood stories from him forever, you know.”

“I will try, nonetheless,” Thorin muttered, cheeks pink.

Thorin turned his attention to Bilbo, eyes swimming with warmth. Bilbo didn’t know if it was just from the rather strong drink he’d finished, but Thorin was looking extra beautiful, some strands of hair falling down from his neat braids and his cheeks flushed from alcohol and embarrassment. He would never stop thinking how unfair it was that this man was so breathtakingly beautiful. 

“I have some more socializing to do. Mind coming with me? I’ll get you another drink first.” Thorin asked him, lips quirked in a smile.

Bilbo nodded, bewitched, as though he had any other choice. He rose and followed Thorin, missing Bofur’s silent laughing fit in response to Thorin’s dirty look.

~

Bilbo was whisked around the party for an undetermined amount of time, meeting face after elegant face of Thorin and Dís’ coworkers and friends. He quickly began to feel drained, but Thorin’s hand at the small of his back, leading him around gently in the somewhat crowded space was like an anchor. 

Bombur showed up perhaps an hour in, enveloping Bilbo in a big hug that was so comforting it seemed to recharge him a bit. That and the wine glass that Thorin was attentively keeping full for Bilbo. Thorin wasn’t neglecting himself either - normally a man of few words, he was surprisingly eloquent with his guests, loosening up incrementally as the wine continued to flow.

As the party wound down and guests began to leave, Bilbo found himself a nice spot in front of the fireplace and leaned against an ottoman, enjoying the fuzziness in his body and mind as all the alcohol he’d consumed began to catch up with him. 

A few minutes later, someone sat down next to him, cross-legged. He looked over and saw that it was Fíli.

“Fíliii! I haven’t seen you all night!” he exclaimed, his voice coming out a little louder than he’d intended.

Fíli laughed, raising his eyebrows at Bilbo. “I know, I was hanging out upstairs for a while. Thought I’d come down and say hi. Partying hard, I see?”

Fíli looked pointedly at his wine glass.

Bilbo put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, eyes darting around conspiratorially. “Your uncle’s fault. He kept refilling my glass.”

Fíli rolled his eyes. “Of course he did.” Fíli looked like he was debating saying something for a moment, before he spoke. “So...you two are okay now?”

Bilbo looked at him quizzically, tilting his head. “Oh, yes, don’t worry. He apologized, I apologized, it’s all good. I thought you knew that?”

Fíli sighed, looking dissatisfied with the answer.

“No, I mean,” Fíli paused, looking around before continuing. “You two are... _ okay?  _ Like you finally worked things out, right?”

Bilbo wasn’t sure if his mind was just muddled from the alcohol, but he was confused by Fíli’s words. His confusion must have shown, because Fíli rolled his eyes, sighing.

“Uncle Thorin is such an idiot. You’re kind of a dummy too,” Fíli said, matter-of-factly.

“Hey,” Bilbo replied weakly, mildly indignant. 

Just then, Bombur and Bofur collapsed on the couch behind them, beer bottles in hand. Bilbo was pretty sure one of them must have brought the beer.

Soon the remainder of the guests had gathered around the sitting area, tipsy and content in front of the fire. Only a few guests remained, and Bilbo was glad that they were all people he knew: Bofur, Bombur, Dís, Gandalf, Thorin, and the kids. There was also a lovely, short and slightly chubby red-haired woman at Bombur’s side who Bilbo assumed was his wife. Thorin silently sat on the end of the couch nearest where Bilbo sat reclined.

“How was the rest of your socializing?” Bilbo asked, tipping his head back against the ottoman.

“Mmm...very...social,” Thorin said, and Bilbo could see from the healthy flush in his cheeks and the slow, drawn out speech that he was more than a little tipsy himself. “It was fine. I have about reached my limit for the night, though.”

“Oh, well, I’ll leave you alone then,” Bilbo teased.

“Not….for you,” Thorin said, and the flush on his cheeks deepened, but he didn’t look away. In fact, he slid gracefully to the floor, leaning against the back of the couch so that he was only about a foot from Bilbo. Wincing at the tight pull of fabric against his shoulders, he slipped out of his suit jacket and placed it on the couch. His large biceps and thick chest strained against the lavender button up he wore, but not enough to look obscene - just well-fitted.

Bilbo swallowed, witty comeback dying on his tongue as his mouth suddenly started to feel dry. Thorin’s eyes were shining with something dark, something that spoke volumes even as he said nothing. Feeling a little vulnerable at the intimacy, Bilbo glanced around, but Fíli had already retreated from his spot and was talking with Kíli and Bombur’s son. Everyone else was engaged in their own conversations.

“So tell me about that gallery, then,” Bilbo said shyly, turning his gaze back to Thorin. The latter’s face lit up adorably.

“Oh, right. It’s a great gallery, the curator is a friend of a friend...anyway, there’s a few local artists always showing there that I love. If you’d like, I could...take you there, sometime.”

“I would love that,” Bilbo breathed, almost before Thorin had even finished speaking. Feeling embarrassed at his rapid response, he rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly before continuing. “That would be great, I mean. I’d love to check out some local artists. My cousin’s wife is a fantastic artist…”

Bilbo and Thorin were interrupted from their intimate conversation once more, this time by the high-pitched whine of Thorin’s youngest nephew as he clambered on top of the ottoman, surprising them both. 

“Uncle Thorin, can we play hide and seek  _ now?  _ You said once people start leaving…”

Thorin looked only mildly annoyed at this interruption, pausing thoughtful for a moment before grabbing his nephew and scrubbing his intricate braids into disarray. 

Kíli squirmed to get away, laughing.

“Alright, fine. You can see how many you can recruit. But no forcing anyone.”

“You’ll play, right Uncle Thorin? And you too, Bilbo?” Kíli asked, eyes wide.

Bilbo looked back and forth between Thorin and his nephew, eyes narrowing as Thorin raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes in mockery of Kíli’s practiced puppy-dog eyes routine. The most infuriating part was that it worked, even done as a joke.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, unsteadily climbing to his feet and trying his best to ignore the rush of dizziness that washed over him.

“I am absolute rubbish at hide and seek. But if you insist…”

Kíli beamed in response, and then made his way over to the other occupants of the room.

A few minutes later, the group of remaining adults - no doubt wondering how they’d gotten roped into this - and a few kids started to wander about as Kíli stood dramatically in the center of the room, eyes covered as he counted down from 100. 

“Oh right. We have to hide now,” Bilbo muttered to Thorin with a frown. He was fairly drunk at this point, and the concept of finding a hiding spot was a bit overwhelming.

Thorin looked back at him with a shrug. He thought for a moment, and then silently pointed upwards, a question in his eyes. Bilbo nodded, and they (semi-drunkenly) made their way across the room and up the stairs. Bilbo giggled as he stumbled on a stair, Thorin catching him but nearly going down in the process. By the time they made it to the top, they both had to take a break to sit on the top step, breathless from exertion and laughter. Bilbo leaned into Thorin, feeling like a teenager for the first time...well, since he last  _ was  _ a teenager. 

Feeling bold, his heart racing in his chest, he tipped his head onto Thorin’s shoulder, his side warm against Thorin’s chest. To his delight, Thorin didn’t recoil or jump, but seemed to lean into Bilbo as well. Bilbo could just barely pick up Thorin’s pulse through their contact: he thought it was his own at first, but realized that the latter’s heart was beating just as quickly as his own.

The silent tension of the moment was broken when Kíli’s voice raised in pitch as he finished his countdown: “TEN, nine, eight, seven…”

“Oh, shit,” Bilbo whispered, lifting his head to look at Thorin.

Thorin stood and held a finger up to his lips, holding out his other hand to help Bilbo up. Bilbo struggled to his feet with some effort, head swimming. Thorin did not let go of his hand, but instead led him quickly to a sliding hall closet with slats in the front. He slid it open and climbed inside, beckoning for Bilbo to follow. Bilbo’s heart gave another nervous flutter but he followed Thorin inside - noting that it was a little less cramped than it appeared from the outside. Thorin slid the door closed and enveloped them in darkness just as they heard Kíli call out, “ready or not, here I come!” from downstairs. 

“This is...not a great hiding spot,” Bilbo whispered, feeling somehow more inebriated than before in the dark, hot space.

“I didn’t see you coming up with any better ideas,” Thorin’s murmur came from out of the dark, closer to Bilbo than he’d imagined.

“Fair,” Bilbo said, a little breathless.

He blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. Eventually, he began to be able to make out the vague outlines of things, illuminated very dimly by the light shining in through the slats. Something small shone brightly in the light a foot or so away from him, it seemed. Curious, he reached out to touch it, and was surprised when his fingers came into contact with the warm, solid surface of Thorin’s chest. Or arm? He wasn’t sure.

Bilbo drunkenly fumbled until he grasped the shiny object - it was the bead on the end of one of Thorin’s braids. He could feel a low rumble in Thorin’s chest and realized he was chuckling.

“And...what exactly are you doing?” he asked, voice low and...was it somewhat gravely? As though Thorin had been smoking?

Bilbo was glad he had the cover of darkness to conceal his red face. “I...saw something shiny. Wanted to see. What it was.”

Bilbo found that speech was even harder in this state, with Thorin much closer than he’d realized. He could hear the vague sounds of Kíli’s voice exclaiming from downstairs, but it didn’t seem like he was going to check the upstairs very soon. Bilbo hummed nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It was starting to feel a little cramped in here.

A warm hand settled on his arm and he froze. He could just barely make out Thorin’s face in the darkness, his eyes reflecting a bit of light.

“Are you alright?” Thorin’s voice was soft, sweet.

At that moment, all Bilbo wanted to do was grab his face and kiss him. It’d been what he’d been wanting to do all night. And the more he’d drank, the more he wondered why he didn’t just do it. Thorin had been close to him all night, barely leaving his side, and  _ touching  _ him all night. Even if he ignored everything up until now, and the sage advice of his best friend - he had to admit that there was something between them. He just wasn’t sure if Thorin was ready to accept that or not.

After a moment of contemplation, Bilbo answered, slowly.

“Yes. I’m...a little nervous.”

Bilbo’s heart hammered in his chest, his breathing shallow.

There was a long pause before Thorin’s reply came. He sounded a little breathless when he spoke.

“...Why is that?”

_ Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.  _ He chanted in his head, knowing that what he did next had the potential to totally change their relationship, for better or for worse. He decided to try to inch a little closer to Thorin before he spoke, but as he lifted his foot to take a step he realized too late that it was caught in something before he pitched forward against Thorin.

Bilbo let out a small shout of alarm as he fell forward, but Thorin caught him easily, one hand already grasping his arm, and the other landing on his waist to steady him. Thorin did stumble backwards a little, a surprised gust of breath rushing out of him as their chests collided. Bilbo, utterly humiliated, tried to free his foot from the confines of what he could now feel was a plastic clothes hanger.

“Woah, you okay? Did you hurt something?” Thorin asked, his tone betraying his amusement.

“Just my pride,” Bilbo muttered miserably, finally managing to dislodge the hanger. 

Bilbo could feel the rumble of Thorin’s low laughter in his chest from where they were still touching. Thorin did not make any move to change their position, and his hand tightened incrementally on Bilbo’s waist where it had steadied him. 

“Sorry. I need to clean out this closet,” Thorin murmured, but sounded far from sorry. There was a smile in his voice, still a little breathless.

Bilbo could feel his heart hammering against his own, Thorin’s big hand on his waist, the gentle wine-sweet breath that fell against his face, and shivered slightly, an unconscious reaction. Thorin had surely noticed.

“So...you never told me what you were nervous about.” Thorin’s voice was low, and had the regained the scratchy quality of before, as though he were straining.

Bilbo took a deep breath, feeling dizzy and overwhelmed and there was... _ so much Thorin,  _ in his arms and against his chest and…

“I’m nervous about making a drunken fool of myself...while trapped in a closet with a very attractive man that is standing very close to me,” Bilbo blurted out, breathless. He forced himself to continue before Thorin could get a word in. “And I guess I’m nervous because I really want to kiss you but I don’t think I’m brave enough to do it.”

Time seemed to hold still for a moment, as Bilbo held his breath. His heart pounded in his chest as the hand on his arm released its grip, and trailed up his neck before settling on his jaw.

“Then let me,” Thorin’s breath ghosted across his lips.

Bilbo sighed against Thorin’s lips as they met his own. Relief, desire, and joy all came pouring out of him with the sound. He didn’t even have the mental capacity to feel vindicated; all of his attention was on the the pillowy softness of Thorin’s lips on his own, the feeling of Thorin’s short beard under his fingers as they traveled up his neck, and the tingling sensation of Thorin’s fingers as the trailed downwards from his waist to his hip, wandering beneath the hem of Bilbo’s shirt. He felt lightheaded, dizzy as Thorin deepened the kiss, dragging Bilbo forward by the hips...

Bilbo startled when he heard the sound of footsteps outside of the closet, stiffening. He pushed Thorin away by the shoulders, holding him at arm’s length. Before Thorin could protest, the door to the closet slid open rapidly, blinding them both.

Kíli’s delighted screech quickly brought them back to reality.

“FOUND YOU!”

Bilbo blinked a couple of times, eyes adjusting to the bright hallway. He looked up dazedly at Kíli, smoothing down his shirt. “Ah yes...you found us. We lose,”

“Actually,” Kíli began, as Bilbo and Thorin clambered out of the closet, “You won, I think. I found you last.” 

“Hmm,” said Thorin. 

Bilbo looked over at him - his face was flushed, his hair had half fallen with runaway curls falling into his face, and his collar was wrinkled beyond repair. When his eyes met Bilbo’s they twinkled, and he smirked.

“Guess it was a good hiding place, after all,” he muttered, breezing past Bilbo.

Bilbo felt his face go even redder, if possible. That smirk did wicked things to his insides. 

~

Bilbo found himself wishing that they hadn’t found such a good hiding place when they came down the stairs to find everyone else gathered in the living room, waiting. Dís had a shit-eating grin on her face, but everyone else was trying not to look too obviously amused. 

Thankfully no one seemed bold enough to tease them for it, and goodbyes were made as Bofur left with his brother and family. Gandalf left next, thanking Thorin for the lovely party and telling Bilbo that he’d been in touch with him soon. 

Bilbo had begrudgingly decided that he, too, needed to leave - it was nearly midnight and he needed to drive 3 hours tomorrow and planned to leave early in the morning. The last thing he wanted to do now was to say goodbye to Thorin, now that their relationship had just changed so drastically, and they weren’t going to see each other for a while…

Thorin seemed to understand, and suggested that he walk Bilbo home.

“It’s safer that way. It’s snowing so I...want to make sure you get home safe,” he said quietly, cheeks coloring as Dís smirked at them.

Bilbo said a lengthy goodbye to the boys and wished them a Happy Christmas, pulling them both into tight hugs. Dís wished him a happy time with his family and pulled him into a tight hug as well, squeezing him once before pulling away and winking. 

“Have fun,” she said, glancing over at Thorin and then sending Bilbo on his way. 

~

The snow was still falling in light swirls as they walked down the sidewalk, the only noise the crunching of their shoes in the light powder that coated everything. Bilbo looked around in wonder, awed by the silent beauty of the snow. It was the best thing about winter. He shivered slightly in the cold and sniffled.

Thorin slipped an arm around his waist and pulled Bilbo against his side as they walked. Bilbo felt his cheeks heat, even in the cold - and after what they had just done - at the intimacy and sweetness of the gesture. 

He leaned into Thorin as they walked, and tried to slow his pace to stretch the time out as long as he could. They strolled in silence for a time before Thorin spoke, surprising Bilbo.

“I’m sorry,” he said, so soft that Bilbo almost missed it. 

His stomach lurched in fear as he processed what Thorin had said.  _ He regrets it. He wishes he hadn’t - _

“I know I already apologized, but I wanted to say it again. I’m sorry for hurting you. You...you are very special to me,” he continued, voice low.

Bilbo looked up at him, eyes wide. His hair and eyelashes were covered in tiny little snowflakes, glowing in the low light.

“I’ve already forgiven you,” Bilbo murmured, resting his head against Thorin’s shoulder. “Besides, it would be hard not to forgive you after...that kiss.”

Thorin chuckled, and Bilbo continued, deciding that if Thorin was being this open with his emotions he needed to be brave, too.

“I’ve...uh…I’ve wanted you to do that for a long time,” he admitted, eyes cast downwards.

They slowed to a stop as they approached Bilbo’s apartment building, one lonely street light illuminating the ground in a soft orange glow.

Bilbo felt a hand lift his chin gently as Thorin turned to face him. He met Thorin’s gaze and it nearly took his breath away. 

“I...have wanted to do that for a very long time,” he said, eyes darting down to Bilbo’s mouth. 

Bilbo licked his lips unconsciously and felt heat pool in his belly when Thorin’s eyes followed the motion, rapt. He was feeling his willpower fade away, all of his attention focused on getting closer to Thorin, but he made himself speak again.

“I don’t know when I’ll see you next...do...do you want to come in?” he asked, breathless.

Thorin looked pained, and Bilbo’s heart sank a little.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t. I really want to,” Thorin began, and upon seeing Bilbo’s reaction, he swiftly looped an arm around Bilbo and pulled him close so that their chests were flush.

“I  _ really  _ want to,” he emphasized, leaning down to whisper in Bilbo’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “But I can’t. I have some important business at the Embassy early tomorrow that needs to get done before the holidays start. I’m sorry.”

Bilbo nodded, the sting of Thorin’s response lessened by the tight grip hugging him close and the warm breath against his neck. Thorin pulled back, holding Bilbo’s face gently in both hands. Bilbo had fantasized for so long what those hands would feel like touching him, caressing him, and he never imagined that they would be so gentle as they held him.

“I will see you very soon. And...I’ll call you. I am going to miss not having you around, the constant blushing is quite adorable,” Thorin said, voice low.

“I do  _ not _ constantly blush,” Bilbo protested weakly, even as he felt his cheeks color.

Thorin laughed, rubbing a thumb across Bilbo’s cheek. 

“Well, are you at least going to say goodbye?” Bilbo asked, looking up at Thorin through his snow-coated lashes, rising up onto the balls of his feet to close some of the height difference.

Thorin smiled, eyes shining with warmth. He leaned down and kissed Bilbo, slow and tender. It didn’t feel as urgent and full of need as their messy kiss in the closet. Bilbo felt cherished; held tenderly in Thorin’s arms as they kissed under the orange beam of the streetlight, surrounded by the silently falling snow.

~

Far away, deep in the peaks of a snowy mountain, another Durin stared out at the full moon, watching the gentle snowfall in its silvery light. Even from the window of his room he could see it clearly. Perhaps the legends of old had some truth - he sensed it filling him with strength; healing his broken body. Everyone else believed he would soon die, but he knew better. He was getting stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one where the idiots finally kiss.
> 
> This chapter was a lot of dialogue - which was both a lot of fun and a bit of a challenge! But I've been looking forward to writing this chapter for months. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I love hearing from you all in the comments, it's such a huge motivator for me. Thank you all for supporting this story! I'm really excited to get into some action and drama in the coming chapters!!


	10. Interlude

Bilbo’s dreams had been strange since he was a young child. The surreal constructions of his subconscious, a mixed salad of his thoughts, memories, insecurities and fears had always made him uneasy.

He stood on a snowy street, the icy fingers of dawn stretching over the rooftops. The snow dampened the sound. There was no cold - he was surrounded by warmth. He came to realize - slowly, but with unwavering acceptance as one does in a dream - that the warmth came from Thorin, embracing him tightly. He was impossibly soft. Bilbo breathed in deeply, smelled the scent of his hair, the wet snow melting on his collar…

Suddenly the skyline lurched, and flipped - Bilbo’s feet stayed fast as if glued to the ground while the earth flipped nauseatingly around him.

Suddenly he stood in front of a towering mountain, its silhouette jagged against the snowy night sky. The wind howled and whipped his face. The summit was bathed in moonlight.

The scene dissolved into white, and he found himself no longer knee-deep in snow, but in a field of bright blue wildflowers. Forget-me-nots. He stretched his fingertips and became aware that he was lying on his back, staring up at an idyllic blue sky. Something made him tear his gaze away - his eyes met the sharp blue of Thorin’s, lying next to him.

The irises seemed to constantly shift, from stormy blue-green to the same rich periwinkle as the flowers to an icy silvery-blue. They seemed almost alive. Bilbo watched in wonder, his hand reaching for Thorin’s face, as the daylight around him faded rapidly like a time-lapse. Thorin was now lit by starlight, an eerie blue glow softening his features.

His lips moved, but Bilbo perceived no sound. He focused and leaned in.

He could barely make out the whisper.

“...wake up.”

His brain lagged for a moment, swimming in the cerebral muck of between-consciousness.

“wake up,” came the voice again, a more insistent whisper.

Bilbo blinked, and blearily opened his eyes to see two bright blue ones staring back at him, but not the same mutating blue from his dreams. These eyes gazed at him earnestly from beneath a mop of dark brown curls.

“Bih-bo…” Frodo’s tiny, insistent whisper brought Bilbo back to full consciousness as he sighed and rolled onto his back.

“Yes, little one. I’m awake,” he murmured with a smile, resting his hands on his belly.

Frodo smiled, proudly showing off a handful of tiny new teeth. Bilbo grabbed him under the armpits and plopped his giggling nephew onto the bed.

A light knock came at the door and Primula poked her head into the bedroom.

“I’m so sorry, Bilbo. I told him to let you sleep in. The little menace can barely walk but he can open all the doors in the house.”

Bilbo smiled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up.

He had spent the last couple of days at his mother’s old house, now under the care of his cousin Drogo and his wife, Primula. They had kept much of his mother’s original furniture, and Bilbo was pleased to see that the bookshelf was now full of a variety of colorful volumes, along with many of his mother’s carefully separated old tomes. The house was far less barren than he’d left it - Primula’s vibrant paintings leaned and hung against the walls, and much of the comfy, mid-century furniture from the loft looked chic and elegant in the cozy space. Bilbo could feel the memory of his mother still, but he didn’t feel so haunted with nostalgia every time he entered a room. He was confident he had done the right thing by giving the house to Drogo and Primula.

It was the morning of the 28th, four days after he’d arrived, and Bilbo had managed to keep his lips sealed about the Christmas party so far. He’d carefully skirted the topic of the party itself, but expressed his excitement about visiting Erebor and working on the dig. When he spoke about Thorin, he tried to limit his adjectives to neutrally-praiseworthy words like “dignified,” “kind,” and “hardworking,” rather than veering into “charming” territory, which set Primula’s eyes alight and Drogo’s eyebrows to bouncing.

Was he truly that transparent?

He pondered this and more as he chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of blueberry pancakes. Primula was an excellent cook. Drogo sat across from him at the kitchen table, immersed in the morning paper, and Frodo reached with stubby fingers for Bilbo’s coffee cup.

Primula swept into the room, a light floral breeze wafting about her, and slid the coffee cup a few inches out of Frodo’s reach with barely a glance. Bilbo smiled up at her.

“You handle toddler wrangling with such style and grace,” he quipped, picking up the mug and taking a sip.

Primula curtsied exaggeratedly, eliciting a snort from Bilbo and a delighted giggle from her son.

Bilbo’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he placed the mug down slowly, trying not to rip the device out too eagerly. He peered down at the screen - one message from Thorin. Bilbo bit his lip as he opened it.

_Good morning. i’ve been thinking about you all night._

Such simple words from such a taciturn man, with such sincerity and earnestness (at least, Bilbo imagined) that he felt a blooming in his chest.

“What are you smiling about?” Primula’s voice cut through his reverie, teasing.

He felt his grin grow a little wider, embarrassed. He hadn’t realized he’d been smiling.

“What? Oh, ah. Nothing. Just, uh, something funny my mate sent me.”

Primula cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “Mmm. Is that so…”

Bilbo rolled his eyes and pointedly ignored Drogo’s narrowed gaze peering at him over the newspaper. He took a sip of coffee and then typed out a reply.

_Good Morning :) What a coincidence. You were in my dreams...again._

Bilbo made sure to school his expression as he sent the message. When he looked up, to his relief, Primula had turned and started the dishes. He seemed to be off the hook, for now. After a few moments of silence, Prim spoke again, tone suspiciously casual.

“So, would that be the same friend that you have long conversations with on the phone every night?”

Bilbo choked on his sip of coffee, sputtering and coughing while Frodo’s eyes went wide with alarm.

“I - what - did you…” Bilbo began weakly, floundering. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Were you, uh...listening to those, or…”

“Oh Bilbo, of course not,” Drogo piped up from across the table, rolling his eyes. “Couldn’t hear anything exact...but the sound of laughter at 1 in the morning is pretty unmistakable.”

Bilbo scowled at his cousin.

“Oh to be young and in love,” Drogo sighed dreamily, clutching his hands together.

Bilbo chucked a dish towel at his cousin’s head, a skill honed from years of practice. Drogo laughed and ducked, and Frodo pounded his tiny fists on the table, cheering on the mounting chaos.

“Alright, alright settle, boys!” Primula laughed as she sat down to join them at the table, smoothing a hand over Frodo’s little head.

“Bilbo’s been teased enough, we can leave him alone.”

Primula winked and Frodo blew a raspberry at Bilbo. He smiled at the sounds of laughter filling his mother’s old home.

~

The peaceful atmosphere of the house that day lasted until mid-afternoon.

Bilbo was bent over a tray of just-cooled sugar cookies, perfect, golden, and crispy, with a bag of frosting in hand. It was a little past the time for more holiday sweets, but he couldn’t resist baking when he was in his mother’s kitchen. Everything about it reminded him of home.

It had, perhaps, not been the best idea to let Frodo “help.” The young boy was already stripped down to just pajama bottoms, the sugar-and-butter encrusted ruins of his pajama top in a heap on the floor. Bilbo had forbade the toddler from trying to frost the cookies, but left a bowl of the royal blue icing on the table.

Bilbo himself was covered in quite a bit of flour; despite his black apron, a fine coating dusted the front of his heavy-knit sweater and there were white handprints on his dark jeans. The blue frosting stained his fingers and he was fairly certain he’d gotten some on his face a moment ago when he scratched his nose. He held his breath as he focused on outlining the star shape of a cookie with the frosting. He stood back and admired his work with satisfaction a moment later, and turned to check on Frodo -

\- and saw an entirely too blue toddler. Bilbo’s eyes widened in horror as he took in the scene: Frodo had half-crawled onto the table and was shoveling slow handfuls of the blue frosting into his mouth. His face was coated in the sticky substance, some had gotten in his hair, and his hands were blue from his fingertips to his elbows. A large, smeared puddle of blue frosting dripped from the table and onto the floor. Bilbo stood staring, mouth agape and wondering how it was humanly possible to make such a large mess in such a short period of time.

He snapped back into action as Frodo slapped his belly with a clenched little fistful of frosting, splattering blue across his abdomen. Bilbo swooped in and grabbed him under the armpits, wincing as some of the frosting ran down his arms.

“Oh no no, Frodo, look at the mess you’ve made, oh your mother is going to _kill me_ ,” Bilbo stood for a moment looking around panickedly while Frodo hung serenely from his arms. “Er….okay. In the sink then, let’s wash you off.”

He winced as he stepped in a puddle of frosting.

He set Frodo on the chair, carefully peeling off his now very blue pajama pants and was relieved to see that his diaper was still pristine. Frodo giggled and reached for the now righted bowl of frosting.

Bilbo turned and walked to the sink, turning it on and glancing suspiciously back at Frodo. Just as the water began to run, a light rapping came at the door, followed after a few seconds by the sound of the doorbell.

“Bilbo, can you get that?” came Primula’s voice floating from another room.

“Uhh…” Bilbo started, whipping around to stare at the frosting-covered toddler before him.

“Drogo!! Can you get the door? I’m...a little preoccupied…” he shouted.

The doorbell rang once more.

“Drogo!” Primula yelled, followed by a shuffling noise from another part of the house.

Bilbo turned back to the sink, plugging the drain and hastily squirting some soap into the water.

“What?” came Drogo’s voice, finally, from the living room.

“The door -” “get the door!” Primula and Bilbo shouted simultaneously.

“Alright, alright,”

Bilbo heard the sound of shuffling footsteps, and the opening of the door. He was in no state to greet company right now, and he hoped to Gods it wasn’t one of his relatives. He was covered in flour and blue frosting and in the midst of dealing with a squirming, sugar-coated toddler who…

...was waddling his way out of the kitchen, leaving a track of tiny blue footprints as he went.

“Shit!” Bilbo yelped, diving after Frodo, only to hear the tell tale sound of water slapping against the floor as the sink overflowed. “Ahhh….”

Bilbo lunged backward to turn off the sink, watching with dismay as Frodo picked up the pace, speeding on stubby legs towards the entryway.

“Bilbo!” Drogo’s voice called from the door. “Someone’s here for you…”

Bilbo’s heart dropped to his stomach as he surveyed the mess around him for a moment before taking off after Frodo. “O-one minute…”

He slid in his socks on the slippery trail of blue frosting left by his nephew, nearly falling face first, and managed to scoop up the toddler right as Frodo reached for the back of his father’s shirt.

Then, several things happened at once. As Bilbo held the squirming child in the air by his armpits, Drogo whipped around, eyes going wide and then crinkling with amusement as a bark of laughter escaped him. Drogo’s movement revealed the figure at the door, which was - to Bilbo’s great surprise - a startled looking Thorin. Bilbo stood speechless, staring at Thorin who in turn alternated between staring at him and Frodo. After a solid 3 seconds of silence, Bilbo squeaked out an embarrassingly high-pitched, “Hey!”

“Hi,” Thorin responded, a dazzling smile spreading across his face.

Bilbo blinked a few times, stupefied, before remembering Drogo’s presence.

“Uh, right. Drogo, this is my...my employer, Thorin.” Drogo’s gaze dropped to the blue toddler in Bilbo’s arms. “And this blue monstrosity is your son.”

~

“Sorry about that,” Bilbo murmured as he entered the parlour, hair still damp from his frantic shower.

Thorin smiled at him warmly from where he was seated at the couch, a steaming cup of tea in hand. Primula was sitting across from him with her own. Apparently Drogo had drawn the short straw on bathing Frodo.

“Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have dropped in unannounced,” he paused, taking a sip of his tea.

Bilbo thought he looked apprehensive.

“Nonsense! We love a little holiday company,” Primula chirped.

Thorin’s eyes fluttered over to Bilbo as he took a seat next to Primula, and then back away, shyly.

_Since when is Thorin shy?_ Bilbo thought, heat flashing through him as he recalled their last interaction.

Thorin took a sip of tea and cleared his throat. “Primula was just telling me about some of her artwork. Bilbo said you were an excellent artist, but this work is exquisite.”

Primula giggled, cheeks pinkened. “Oh, really! You’re too sweet. Bilbo, your boss is quite the charmer!”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smirk, the corner of his mouth tipping upwards. “Indeed he is.”

He watched as Thorin swallowed a smile, looking down for a moment, the slightest red dusting his cheeks. He pointedly ignored the curious look he could feel Primula directing at him.

“Ah, so Bilbo, I really am sorry for dropping in so unannounced, but, well we’d been waiting for the greenlight, as you know -”

“Ah, so it’s time to go?” Bilbo replied, keeping his tone steady despite the racing of his heart.

“Yes. I just received word this morning. Travel arrangements have already been made,” Thorin paused, pulling a folder from his messenger bag. “And I have a few things for you.”

Thorin proceeded to place two airplane boarding passes, a train ticket, a bus ticket, and a travel itinerary in front of Bilbo.

“There’s quite a lot involved in the travel, we went ahead and bought your tickets for you, and uh, that’s why I wanted to deliver these in person,” Thorin explained sheepishly.

“We?”

“Oh yes, myself and Mr. Grey. He needed to attend to some last minute business before we leave on Wednesday. But he sends his regards.”

Bilbo was engrossed in the documents before him and took a moment to register what Thorin said.

“This Wednesday? As in the day after tomorrow?”

“Ah, yes. That’s the other detail. The flight leaves out of Heathrow Wednesday morning...we need to move quickly on this. I...hope this won’t be too much of an inconvenience?”

Thorin met his eyes with that intense blue gaze and Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat. He was still utterly weak to those damn eyes. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

“Oh yes, yes that’s fine, I just -” he turned to Primula. “I’m sorry to leave on such short notice! I know I said I’d be around a while longer to help look after Frodo -”

“Nonsense!” Primula interjected, patting Bilbo’s cheek. “You have exciting archaeology adventures to go on.”

Bilbo worried at his lip, glancing back at the table and then at her. Prim’s face softened, a smile curling at her lips.

“Bilbo, really. It’s alright, we can manage. It’s been lovely to have you, but you’ve got things to do. We’ll have to just find the time to help Frodo splatter frosting all over the walls ourselves.”

Bilbo chuckled in embarrassment. Without missing a beat, she rounded on Thorin, sparkling eyes belying her easygoing smile.

“So, Thorin, you must be exhausted! Did you drive all the way from London?”

“Well, I was...sort of, around the area,” Thorin stumbled through his words, clearly not expecting the sudden scrutiny. “It was just a few hours, nothing really.”

“Still, that’s quite a way to drive just to drop off some documents! Bilbo, you’ve got quite the dedicated employer and friend!”

Bilbo nodded weakly as both he and Thorin avoided each other’s gazes. He could practically hear the cogs turning in Prim’s mind.

“Well,” she began, slapping her hands on her lap as she rose. “You must be tired, and hungry! You must stay for dinner, I insist. Can’t have you coming all the way out here to the sticks just to send you away hungry!”

Thorin glanced over at Bilbo, expression unsure.

“I agree. You should...you should stay for dinner. If you want,” Bilbo smiled.

The tension faded from Thorin’s face and shoulders.

“Well, if you insist…”

~

A while later, Bilbo struggled to push down his irritation as he helped Primula chop vegetables in the kitchen. Thorin had been at the house for a few hours now, and Bilbo hadn’t gotten any real time alone with him. First, Drogo had emerged (tinted only slightly blue) from the bathroom with a squeaky-clean Frodo and introductions were had.

Then, Primula had enlisted Bilbo’s help with cleaning up the remaining frosting in the kitchen, and then with prepping an extravagant meal for their guest, firmly - but politely - rejecting Thorin’s offer to help. Given Thorin’s lackluster performance as a sous-chef on previous occasions, Bilbo couldn’t muster up much of an argument in his favor.

There had been a brief moment, when Bilbo was headed to washroom and Thorin was headed out, where they bumped into each other in a darkened hallway. They both had lingered awkwardly, at a loss for words but not wanting to leave eachother’s orbit. Thorin had reached out, seemingly to cup Bilbo’s face, and Bilbo leaned into the touch. Thorin instead swiped a finger across the side of Bilbo’s neck, pulling it back to reveal a glob of blue frosting.

“Looks like you missed a spot,” he muttered with a quirk of his lips, and proceeded to suck his index finger clean with a wet ‘pop.’

Bilbo’s knees went weak as an unexpected wave of heat washed over him.

“I-I suppose I did,” he said breathlessly.

“Oi! Thorin - the game’s on, you want to watch?” rang Drogo’s voice from the living room.

Thorin chuckled as Bilbo rolled his eyes, trying to recompose himself and look a bit less flustered.

“Be right there, Drogo,” Thorin called, flashing one more soft smile towards Bilbo that made his insides squirm before heading back down the hallway.

Bilbo was lost in that particular memory as he peeled potatoes next to Prim. He could hear the muffled sounds of the TV from the other room, the light rumble of Drogo and Thorin’s conversation, and Frodo’s quiet contented babbling from the highchair behind him.

“So,” Prim began, pointedly slicing a potato in half with a pronounced chop. “Were you going to mention that your boss was a tall drink of hunky, rakish Eastern European man-candy?”

The potato in Bilbo’s hand slipped and skidded promptly across the counter.

He laughed, embarrassed as he retrieved it.

“Everyone always says that. And acts offended that I did not preface his introduction with his…” Bilbo paused for emphasis, “rakish handsomeness.”

“Aha!” she exclaimed, startling Bilbo. “So you admit it! You do think he’s handsome!”

Prim poked at Bilbo with a teasing lilt to her voice. Bilbo laughed but schooled his reaction.

“Well of course, I’m not blind.”

“Good-looking, snappy dresser, good taste in art, smart fellow...and he seems to fancy you quite a bit, to make such a long drive…” Primula’s eyebrows bounced and Bilbo cursed his cousin for his terrible influence.

“Well apparently not enough to help out with the labor here,” Bilbo quipped, directing the conversation away from that particular topic. “Honestly Prim, don’t you think it’s a bit patriarchal? Those two big, strong men watching football while you’re stuck in the kitchen with only me for company?”

Primula leveled a sharp glare at him.

“You know damn well Drogo is a useless nightmare in the kitchen who leaves only destruction in his wake,” she said flatly. “He gets to make the occasional meat dish and otherwise, he stays out of my kitchen.”

She punctuated her last word with a loud chop. Her petite form was suddenly made far more menacing as she brandished the chef’s knife. Her expression softened into a serene smile as she leant her face on an elbow.

“Anyway, that’s not what we were talking about, were we? I wanna talk about your hunky friend there.”

Bilbo sighed and weakly glared.

“You know, you’re a lot scarier than you look.”

Prim threw her head back, the prosodic chime of her laugh filling the room.

“I know, I know. Now tell me, you’re being weirdly avoidant,” her eyes narrowed and her pitch lowered. “You like him, huh?”

Bilbo cast her a withering glance, even as his cheeks pinkened.

“See?! You’re turning into a strawberry!” she giggled.

“Ugh!” Bilbo buried his face in his hands, smiling in embarrassment at her through his fingers.

_Damn body betraying me again. Curse this pasty English skin!_ Bilbo lamented internally.

“No comment.”

~

Thorin and the Baggins enjoyed a delicious and relaxing meal, where - much to Bilbo’s relief - Primula tactfully avoided poking at Bilbo any further, and Drogo stuck to teasing Bilbo solely on the basis of embarrassing childhood stories. Which, Thorin pointed out, was only fair given the stories Bofur and Bombur had made Bilbo privy to during the Christmas party.

Thorin, Bilbo realized, was the toddler charmer supreme. Frodo’s wide blue eyes remained affixed to Thorin’s face, mouth a perpetual “o” of wonder when Thorin gesticulated with a massive hand or screwed up his face for just half a second to make the child laugh. Bilbo didn’t know why he was surprised, but it was unexpected just how much more attracted to Thorin it made him. For the first night since Bilbo had been at the house, Frodo didn’t throw a single tantrum, or dump his food on the floor, or smear it all over his face.

At one point during the meal, after Thorin had just finished making a funny face that had sent Frodo into a fit of giggles, he remarked wistfully, “They’re just so much easier at this age.”

Bilbo, recalling with horror the frosting incident from earlier that day, simply gaped at him in awed silence.

At the end of dinner, Bilbo watched with admiration as Thorin and Primula spoke animatedly about color field painters of the 60s. Frodo contentedly watched the two with rapt attention. After a few moments of silence Drogo stretched and yawned dramatically, craning his neck to look out the front room window.

“Awful dark innit? And oh look, it’s started to snow, too.” He tsked, catching Thorin’s attention. “Thorin, I think you ought to stay the night. Those out there are some dangerous driving conditions, and that’s a long ride back.”

Primula nodded, perhaps too vigorously, in agreement.

“Oh yes, you really shouldn’t go out in that. Folks crash on these old back roads all the time in poor weather. They’re just terribly lit.”

Bilbo carefully schooled his reaction, resisting the urge to shoot a glare at Primula. Thorin’s gaze darted first between Drogo and Primula, and then to Bilbo, questioning.

“Oh, ah, that’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“Nonsense! It’s no imposition at all! We’ve got a nice guest room you could stay in, or there’s the couch, or...other rooms,” Primula said, voice bright, her eyes sliding to Bilbo’s as she finished her sentence.

Bilbo buried his face in his hands in embarrassment, cheeks burning.

“Well, I suppose it is pretty late,” Thorin began, his gaze once again resting on Bilbo, and he was clearly fighting a smile. “Your relatives are rather insistent.”

“Yes, that’s one word for them,” Bilbo quipped, shooting a glare at Drogo who had the full-blown audacity to _wink_ at him in response.

He finally lifted his face from his hands, no doubt glowing red.

“I’ll make up the _guest bed._ ”

~

A few hours later, Bilbo stood outside of the door to the guest room, his hand hovering in a fist, poised to knock. He didn’t know why he couldn’t draw the courage; he’d been waiting all night for a single moment alone with Thorin. Prim and Drogo had decided that Thorin was their new best friend, and while the company had been nice, Bilbo felt an itch under his skin to get closer to Thorin, to touch him. But now, with Frodo in bed and the soft blue glow of the television coming from beneath the door to Prim and Drogo’s room, there was nothing holding him back. But still he couldn’t do it.

_What if it was a fluke?_ He wildly speculated, with no concrete evidence. _If he wanted to see you alone he already would have…_

Bilbo shook his head, clearing the thoughts. He took a step back from the door, biting into his lip.

“No,” he whispered to himself.

He was not going to fall prey to his self-degrading internal monologue again. He just needed to calm down a little - and he knew just the thing.

~

Bilbo sighed deeply in the frigid night air as he sat down on the chilly stone bench in his mother’s old garden, comforter wrapped firmly around him. It was beautiful; one could see the stars so clearly out in the middle of nowhere. The moon cast a pale blue light on the garden, animating it with soft ghostly silhouettes and shadows.

He smiled to himself as he packed a pipe with shaking hands. It reminded him of being a teenager, wrapped up in the bitter cold to smoke in his mum’s back yard. The hot smoke filling his chilly lungs at the first pull was shocking and woke him up a little as he gazed up at the sky.

He started at the sound of the kitchen door opening behind him, whipping his head around and freezing in place, a guilty expression on his face.

Thorin emerged from the darkness, chuckling when he caught sight of Bilbo.

“Relax, you’re not busted,” he said, sitting down next to Bilbo on the bench, their thighs and arms touching.

Thorin was a solid wall of warmth, and as always, his proximity caused Bilbo’s brain to short-circuit a little.

“I was wondering where you’d went,” Thorin continued in Bilbo’s silence, the words a bit stilted. “I...was looking for you.”

Bilbo turned to look at Thorin, his heart thudding in his chest. A plume of white mist materialized before him as he huffed a short laugh. “You found me.”

Thorin’s answering smile made his heart thud again, hard, almost painfully.  
‘  
“So,” Bilbo said, turning away. “Is there...a reason that we...well, that we are suddenly on our way to Erebor?”

Thorin’s face fell so abruptly that Bilbo regretted asking the question. His expression shifted from pained to steely before he answered.

“My grandfather’s health has...reached a very critical stage. He may not even have until the day after tomorrow.”

Bilbo was speechless, mouth agape as his stomach churned in anxiety. Thorin continued, looking straight ahead as he spoke.

“Gandalf, and many that I’m close to in Erebor...think that there may be some opportunistic members of the Ministry ready to take power if...he passes.” Thorin paused, the muscles in his jaw jumping. “Some appointees with very troubling ties to the antiquities black market.”

Bilbo finally spoke, starting to connect some dots. “Like Azog…? But Gandalf told me he’d fled the country? You think he’ll be back?”

Thorin scoffed, shaking his head. “No. Azog’s just a pawn. There are others. There will continue to be others…”

Thorin scrubbed a hand over his face, and Bilbo noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. He could bear the sight no longer, guilt-ridden that he’d started the conversation.

“Hey,” he said, chilly fingers wrapping around Thorin’s free hand that rested on his lap. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this right now. I’m sure we’ll be discussing it nonstop soon enough.”

Thorin’s hand fell from his face and his expression softened as he turned to face Bilbo.

“You’re so cold,” he breathed, a cloud of white mist framing his face like a halo. “Let me help.”

Bilbo shivered as Thorin grasped his chilly hands. Thorin’s much larger hands entirely encased his own, and were warm and soft.

“Thanks,” he whispered, breathless.

“It’s far too cold for you to be out here,” Thorin murmured, rubbing his fingers over Bilbo’s.

Bilbo scoffed, trying not to become overwhelmed by the tingling sensation that shot through his arms as Thorin grasped his hands.

“I’ll be fine, thank you very much,” he teased, but turned his head to look up at the stars, suddenly shy under Thorin’s intense gaze. “Besides,” he murmured, “If I go inside then you’ll stop holding my hands.”

He heard the low rumble of Thorin’s chuckle from beside him, and then a cold rush of air as the comforter was lifted from one of his shoulders. He turned back in surprise just as Thorin ducked under the blanket beside him, releasing his hands to wrap an arm around Bilbo’s waist. He tugged the blanket back closed around them.

Thorin was somehow, even in the cold, a searing wall of heat against him. Bilbo could smell the woody scent of his cologne, and the heady oils he used in his hair. He snuggled closer instinctively, even as his head spun from the blood rushing upwards to his face.

“How’s this?” Thorin murmured, lips brushing slightly against his ear.

Bilbo shuddered, sparks of pleasure skipping down his spine.

“Th-That’s good,” he breathed.

They sat in contented silence for a while, staring up at the waning moon and brilliant constellations of stars. It was bloody romantic, Bilbo though, except for his arse slowly growing numb on the cold stone bench. He squirmed a little, trying to get blood flowing but not disturb the moment.

“Ready to go inside, or shall we sleep out here?” Thorin asked, chuckling.

“Ugh, fine.”

~

Bilbo and Thorin sat on the couch in his mother’s living room, nursing hot cups of chamomile tea that Thorin had insisted upon when Bilbo had continued to shiver even after they’d headed inside. Thorin’s hand rubbed at Bilbo’s upper arm, warming the skin, but his eyes looked unfocused, his thoughts elsewhere. Bilbo could only imagine the stress that weighed on Thorin’s shoulders.

Slowly, tentatively, he put his teacup down and reached for Thorin’s face, lightly trailing his fingers over Thorin’s tense brow, and then tracing the dark circles beneath his eyes. Thorin’s eyes fluttered closed, and some of the tension seemed to drain from his face as he exhaled.

“Thorin, I’m so sorry...about...everything,” Bilbo whispered, not sure how to comfort Thorin but aching to do so.

Thorin’s eyes opened and he smiled softly at Bilbo, his hand falling to rest on Bilbo’s thigh. The gesture seemed casual, but it set Bilbo’s skin alight with sensation.

“You don’t have to apologize…” Thorin trailed off, as Bilbo’s hand sunk to his jaw, cradling it gently.

His eyes were sharp now, focused on Bilbo. In the dark of the room his pupils seemed to swallow the blue of his eyes. He leaned into Bilbo’s touch just slightly, his short beard scratching against Biblo’s palms. His pink lips were parted, and even in the dark Bilbo could see the color that dusted his cheeks.

Suddenly overcome by want, and lacking the trepidation from before, Bilbo leaned forward, closing the distance between them as his lips met Thorin’s, his other hand rising to cradle Thorin’s face. Thorin met him enthusiastically, the hand on his thigh tightening its grip. Bilbo sighed into Thorin’s mouth, the tension draining from him as Thorin’s soft lips moved against his. He pulled back after a few moments to catch his breath, head spinning. Thorin looked...desperate. His lips were kiss-swollen and his cheeks flushed.

“Sorry I just…” Bilbo began, a breathless giggle. “Keep expecting to get interrupted.”

Thorin chuckled, his fingers flexing on Bilbo’s thigh, digging just slightly into the soft inner flesh of his leg. A soft moan escaped Bilbo’s lips, involuntarily, and Thorin’s eyes flashed with an unmistakable hunger that caused a flash of heat to sear through Bilbo’s body.

Suddenly Thorin’s hands were at his hips, pulling him forward onto Thorin’s lap in one fluid motion that made the air whoosh from Bilbo’s lungs. Thorin’s lips were back on Bilbo’s, this time in a deep kiss that made Bilbo’s head spin. Bilbo kissed back with as much energy as he could muster, feeling the tightening heat in his lower abdomen as Thorin’s hands gripped his hips, easily covering his body in their large grasp.

Bilbo tried to surreptitiously twist his hips away, backwards, feeling himself starting to get hard, but Thorin’s grip was tight, which only served to arouse him further. Thorin, though, seemed to sense his hesitation and pulled back from the kiss.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice hoarse and husky.

Bilbo wriggled uncomfortably atop him as Thorin’s gravely, turned-on voice sent another beam of heat down between his legs.

“A-ah...yeah...I’m, I’m good,” he said in a shaky voice. “Just, ah, we...might need to slow down, a little, I’m uh. It’s been a while.”

The recognition dawning on Thorin’s face was like a lightbulb going off. His eyes dropped to the space between them where Bilbo was seated, and then trailed back up Bilbo’s body with that same unmistakable hunger from before, but Thorin was making a visible effort to control it.

“Ah. yes. Sorry,” he choked out, hands gliding up from Bilbo’s hips to his waist. “I got a little carried away. You uh...you do that to me.”

Bilbo laughed, breathlessly. “Yes, well, same. Obviously. But maybe...just…”

“Not here?” Thorin offered, with a sympathetic smile.

Bilbo smiled back, relieved by the understanding in Thorin’s eyes. He looped his arms around Thorin’s neck and the latter’s arms wrapped quickly around his back, two wide planes of searing warm below his shoulder blades.

“Thanks,” he whispered, squeezing Thorin tight.

Thorin held him even tighter, his hands rubbing small circles on Bilbo’s back.

Bilbo was overcome with an emotion he hadn’t felt in so long he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. It overwhelmed him all of the sudden, sitting in the same room where he’d felt it so many years ago and what felt like a world away.

He felt safe, comforted, but more than that. Bilbo felt, for the first time in years, at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this chapter is so long overdue! I've re-written this chapter so many times. It was hard to capture everything I wanted in this interlude and give a bit more exposition at the same time...hopefully you all enjoyed! Thank you all for all of your kind and amazing comments - they are what have kept me going with this story! I'm so grateful to everyone who has read this story and left feedback. Y'all are the GOAT. <3
> 
> also, PSA: this fic will probably make its way to an E rating in the next few chapters. Just didn't want to advertise this story that way until it actually applied lol


End file.
